.    .. 
•I 


AS  VIEWED  BY  THE  GREAT  THINKERS 
FROM  PLATO  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME 

BY 
RUDOLF  EUCKEN 

PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN   THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  JENA; 
AWARDED  THE  NOBEL  PRIZE  FOR  LITERATURE  IN  1908 

.  TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    GERMAN 

BY 
WILLISTON  S.  HOUGH 

LATE  PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY  AND  DEAN  OF  TEACHERS  COLLEGE  AT  THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  UNIVERSITY; 
EDITOR  Of  THE  ENGLISH  TRANSLATION  OF  ERDHANN's  "HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY" 

AND 

W.  E.  BOYCE  GIBSON 

PROFESSOR  OF  MENTAL  AND  MORAL  PHILOSOPHY  AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  MELBOURNE;   AUTHOR  0» 

"RUDOLF  EUCKEN'S  PHILOSOPHY  OF  LIFE,"  "THE  PROBLEM  or  LOGIC,"  ETC. 


REVISED  AND  ENLARGED  EDITION 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  1914,  BT 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 
TO  THE  ENGLISH  TRANSLATION 

IT  is  a  genuine  pleasure  to  me  to  see  "The  Problem  of  Human 
Life"  in  an  English  Version,  particularly  as  the  translation  has 
been  prepared  with  great  care  by  esteemed  friends,  and  is,  I 
think,  entirely  successful. 

The  present  book  forms  the  essential  complement  of.  all  my 
other  works.  It  is  designed  to  afford  historical  confirmation  of 
the  view  that  conceptions  are  determined  by  life,  not  life  by 
conceptions.  Under  the  guidance  of  this  conviction  the  book 
traverses  the  whole  spiritual  development  of  the  Western  world, 
in  the  hope  that  the  several  phases  of  the  development,  and, 
above  all,  its  great  personalities,  will  be  brought  nearer  to  the 
personal  experience  of  the  reader  than  is  customarily  done. 
Particularly  in  an  age  of  predominant  specialisation,  when  the 
pursuit  of  learning  too  often  endangers  the  completeness  of 
living,  such  an  endeavour  is  fully  justified. 

I  hope  that  the  English-speaking  public  will  give  the  book  a 
sympathetic  reception.  With  their  own  thinkers,  the  problem 
of  life  has  always  stood  in  the  foreground,  and  scientific  re- 
search steadily  regarded  the  whole  life  of  man.  Thus  my  book 
presents  nothing  foreign  to  the  genius  of  the  English-speaking 
peoples:  may  it  be  felt  and  welcomed  by  them  as  something 
kindred  to  their  own  aims! 

RUDOLF  EUCKEN. 

Jena. 


TRANSLATORS'  PREFACE 

THE  following  translation  of  Eucken's  "  Die  Lebensanschau- 
ungen  der  grossen  Denker:  Eine  Entwickelungsgeschichte  des 
Lebensproblems  der  Menschheit  von  Plato  bis  zur  Gegenwart" 
is  based  substantially  upon  the  seventh  German  edition,  Leip- 
zig, 1907.  But,  owing  to  the  rapidity  with  which  the  three 
last  editions  have  succeeded  the  fifth,  and  to  unavoidable  in- 
terruptions of  the  work  of  translation,  the  above  statement  re- 
quires a  word  of  explanation.  The  translation  was  begun  from 
the  fifth  edition,  and  had  progressed  as  far  as  the  section  on 
Origen,  when  the  sixth  edition  appeared.  This  edition  presented 
no  changes,  other  than  purely  verbal  ones,  in  the  portion  already 
translated,  except  in  the  account  of  Plato,  particularly  the  im- 
portant section  on  the  Theory  of  Ideas.  The  passages  affected 
were,  of  course,  revised  in  accordance  with  the  text  of  the  new 
edition.  The  seventh  edition  being  almost  immediately  called 
for,  and  Mr.  Boyce  Gibson  having  consented  to  undertake  the 
translation  of  Part  Third,  the  relatively  extensive  alterations 
and  additions  designed  for  this  edition  were  communicated  to 
the  translators  in  MS.  The  new  material,  however,  with  but 
two  or  three  exceptions,  concerned  only  the  portions  not  yet 
translated,  and  was  accordingly  readily  incorporated  into  the 
text.  The  translation  as  it  stands,  therefore,  is  in  all  essential 
respects  a  version  of  the  seventh  German  edition. l 

But  mention  should  be  made  of  certain  omissions  from  the 
text  of  the  original  in  Parts  First  and  Second.  The  author  gave 
his  ready  assent  to  the  exercise  of  a  minor  editorial  privilege  in 
this  regard;  and,  solely  with  a  view  to  condensation,  a  few  para- 

1  See  Publisher's  Note. 
vii 


viii  TRANSLATORS'   PREFACE 

graphs,  and  an  occasional  sentence  or  even  phrase,  particularly 
in  the  relatively  long  accounts  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  Plotinus,  and 
Augustine,  and  in  the  section  on  Origen,  have  been  omitted, 
entirely  at  the  discretion  of  the  first-named  translator.  No  at- 
tempt has  been  made  to  indicate  the  points  at  which  such  omis- 
sions occurred ;  but  their  whole  number  would  not  aggregate 
more  than  a  few  pages. 

The  work  of  translation  has  been  divided  as  follows,  each 
translator  being  solely  responsible  for  the  portion  undertaken 
by  him.  Parts  First  and  Second,  on  Hellenism  and  on  Chris- 
tianity respectively,  and  the  Author's  Preface  to  the  English 
Edition,  have  been  translated  by  Mr.  Hough ;  Part  Third,  on 
the  Modern  World,  and  the  Introduction,  have  been  translated 
by  Mr.  Gibson.  It  should  be  said,  however,  that  nearly  all  of 
the  first  draft  of  those  parts  for  which  Mr.  Gibson  is  responsible 
was  made  by  his  wife,  and  that  her  collaboration  upon  the  whole 
work  of  this  portion  has  been  of  the  first  importance.  For  the 
preparation  of  the  Indexes  the  translators  are  further  indebted 
to  Mrs.  Gibson,  and,  in  part,  to  Mrs.  Hough. 

The  translators  have  felt  keenly  the  difficulty  of  deciding  upon 
an  English  title  for  the  work  which  would  be  wholly  free  from 
objection.  The  title  finally  adopted  may  at  first  appear  to  be  a 
bold  substitution;  but  familiarity  with  the  work  will  make  it 
clear  that  in  reality  it  sounds  the  key-note  of  the  book.  If  it  be 
objected  that  the  virtual  transposition  of  the  principal  and  the 
subordinate  title  of  the  original  could  only  result  in  a  change  of 
emphasis,  the  reply  is  that  this  alternative  was  chosen  as  the 
least  of  many  evils.  It  may  be  added  that  the  author  preferred 
the  title  adopted  to  any  of  the  others  proposed. 

In  preparing  the  English  Version  the  translators  have  set 
accuracy  before  all  else.  They  are,  however,  of  opinion  that 
fidelity  is  in  general  not  to  be  secured  by  literal  transcription. 
Moreover,  since  the  present  work  is  designed  for  the  larger 
public  as  well  as  for  academic  uses,  they  have  endeavoured  to 
keep  the  diction  as  free  as  possible  from  technical  expressions 
and  from  traces  of  German  idiom.  At  the  same  time  it  should 


TRANSLATORS'  PREFACE  ix 

be  said  that  the  style  of  the  original,  by  virtue  indeed  of  the  very 
qualities  which  give  it  its  distinction  and  individuality,  presents 
certain  difficulties  which  the  translators  cannot  hope  wholly  to 
have  surmounted ;  and,  particularly  in  view  of  the  distinguished 
recognition  which  the  literary  value  of  the  author's  work  has 
recently  received,  they  submit  their  translation  to  the  public 
with  no  little  diffidence. 

In  conclusion,  the  translators  desire  to  express  their  obligations 
to  Lady  Welby,  who  kindly  read  Part  First  in  MS.,  and  made 
numerous  valuable  suggestions ;  to..  Professor  Arthur  C.  Mc- 
Giffert,  who  similarly  read  the  MS.  of  Part  Second,  and  gave  it 
the  benefit  of  his  intimate  knowledge  of  early  Christianity ;  but 
particularly  to  the  author,  who  not  only  read  the  entire  transla- 
tion in  MS.,  but  has  throughout  assisted  the  translators  with 
advice  on  any  points  of  unusual  difficulty. 

W.  S.  H. 
W.  R.  B.  G. 


CONTENTS 

Introduction xrii 

PART  FIRST— HELLENISM 

A.  Thinkers  of  the  Classical  Period 3 

I.  Preliminary  Remarks  on  the  Greek  Character  and  on 

the  Development  of  Hellenism 3 

II.  Plato 16 

(a)  Introductory 16 

(6)  The  Doctrine  of  Ideas 18 

(c)  Life's  Goods 21 

(d)  Asceticism  and  the  Transfiguration  of  the  World  .  26 

(e)  The  View  of  Human  Life  as  a  Whole     ....  31 
(/)  The  Several  Departments  of  Life 35 

(a)   Religion 35 

(#)  The  State 37 

(7)  Art 40 

(£)  Science 41 

(g)  Retrospect 42 

III.  Aristotle 44 

(a)  General  Characteristics 44 

(b)  Elements  of  the  Aristotelian  View  of  the  World    .  46 

(c)  The  Sphere  of  Human  Experience 52 

(d)  The  Several  Departments  of  Life 61 

(a)  The  Forms  of  Human  Association     ....  61 

(ft)  Art 67 

(7)  Science 69 

(e)  Retrospect 71 

B.  Post- Classical  Antiquity 76 

I.  The  Systems  of  Worldly  Wisdom 76 

(a)  The  Intellectual  Character  of  the  Hellenistic  Period  .  76 

(b)  The  Epicureans 81 

(c)  The  Stoics 86 


rii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

II.  Religious  Speculation 95 

(a)  The  Trend  Toward  Religion 95 

(b)  Plotinus     .    .    •_    ..  ;.«.<v.... 102 

(a)    Introductory 102 

(ft)  The  Basis  of  the  View  of  the  World     ...  105 

(7)  The  World  and  the  Life  of  Man 108 

(8)  The  Stages  of  Spiritual  Creation in 

(e)    Union  with  God 115 

(£)   Retrospect 121 

(c)  The  Greatness  and  the  Limitations  of  Antiquity    .  123 

PART  SECOND— CHRISTIANITY 

A.  The  Foundation       131 

I.  The  General  Character  of  Christianity 131 

(a)  Introductory  Considerations 131 

(b)  The  Fundamental  Facts 134 

(c)  The  Christian  Life 139 

(a)  Regeneration  of  the  Inner  Life 139 

(ft)  The  Closer  Union  of  Mankind 142 

(7)   The  Acquisition  of  a  History 143 

(B)  The  New  Attitude  Toward  Suffering     .    .    .  145 

(d)  The   Complications   and   the   True    Greatness   of 

Christianity 147 

II.  Jesus's  View  of  Life 150 

(a)  Preliminary  Remarks 150 

(b)  The  Elements  of  Jesus's  View  of  Life     ....  153 

(c)  The  Religion  and  the  Ethics  of  Jesus      ....  158 

(d)  The  Collision  with  the  World 165 

(e)  The  Permanent  Result 168 

B.  Early  Christianity 172 

I.  The  Pre-Augustinian  Period 174 

(a)  A  Sketch  of  the  First  Centuries 175 

(b)  Early  Christian  Speculation     . 190 

(a)  Clement  and  Origen 190 

(ft)  The  Influence  of  Neo-Platonism.    Gregory  of 

Nyssa 199 

(c)  The  Formation  of  an  Ecclesiastical  Rule  of  Life  .  205 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

II.  Augustine 211 

(a)  General  Characteristics 211 

(6)  The  Soul  of  Life 215 

(c)  The  Religious  Form  of  the  Spiritual  World      .     .  220 

(d)  The  History  of  the  World  and  Christianity  .    .     .  227 

(e)  The  Church 236 

(/)  Retrospect 245 

III.  The  Middle  Ages 248 

(a)  The  Early  Middle  Ages 248 

(6)   The  Culmination  of  the  Middle  Ages 252 

(c)    The  Later  Middle  Ages 265 

C.  Modern  Christianity 269 

I.  The  Reformation     ...    .    .   '. 269 

(a)  Luther.     .  -.    .    .    . 273 

(&)   Zwingli  and  Calvin 290 

II.  Christianity  and  the  Last  Centuries 295 

PART  THIRD— THE  MODERN  WORLD 

A.  General  Characteristics  of  the  Modern  World     ....  303 

B.  The  Rise  of  the  New  World 308 

I.  The  Renaissance 308 

(a)  The  Fundamental  Characteristics  of  the  Renais- 
sance    308 

(6)  Cosmic  Speculation.  Nicholas  of  Cusa  and  Gior- 
dano Bruno 321 

(c)  The  Art  of  Human  Conduct.    Montaigne    .     .    .  331 

(d)  The  New  Attitude  Toward  Nature  and  the  Control 

of  Nature  Through  Science.    Bacon     ....  336 

II.  The  Enlightenment      . 345 

(a)  General  Characteristics  of  the  Enlightenment    .    .  345 

(6)   The  Leaders  of  the  Enlightenment 351 

(a)  Descartes 351 

($)  Spinoza \ 362 

(aa)  Introduction 362 

(bb)  The  World  and  Man     .......  362 

(cc)   Man  and  His  Littleness 366 


MY  CONTENTS 


Man  and  His  Greatness     ......  369 

(«)   Appreciation      ..........  375 

(7)  Locke      ..............  380 

($)  Leibniz   ..............  388 

(oa)  The  Distinctive  Character  of  His  Thought  .  388 

(bb)   Cosmology    ...........  392 

(cc)    Reconciliation  of  Philosophy  and  Religion.  400 

(e).  Enlightenment:  Period  of  Decline.     Adam  Smith   .  405 

C.  The  Breaking-up  of  the  Enlightenment  and  the  Search  for 

New  Solutions  ...............  419 

I.  Reactions  Against  the  Enlightenment  in  the  Eighteenth 

Century  ................  420 

(a)  Hume  ................  420 

(b)  Rousseau  ...............  423 

II.  German  Idealism     .    ............  435 

(a)  Kant     ............    %    ...  435 

(a)  General  Characteristics      ........  435 

(y9)  The  Critique  of  Knowledge  and  the  Break-up  of 

the  Old  Intellectual  Order     ......  436 

(7)  The  Moral  World     ..........  444 

(8)  The  Sphere  of  the  Beautiful  .......  451 

(e)   Appreciation  and  Criticism    .......  452 

(b)  The  German  Humanistic  Movement  and  Its  Ideal 

of  Life  ...............  457 

(a)  General  Characteristics     ........  457 

(#)  Goethe    ..............  464 

(7)  Schiller    ..............  474 

(8)  The  Romantic  Movement     .......  477 

(c)  German  Speculative  Thought  in  Its  Relation  to  the 

Problem  of  Life      ...........  483 

(a)  Systems  of  Constructive  Thought  .....  484 

(aa)  Fichte  .............  486 

(bb)  Schelling  ............  490 

(cc)    Hegel  ......    .......  494 

()9)  Schleiermacher     ...........  507 

(7)  Schopenhauer,  and  the  Reaction  Against  Ra- 

tional Idealism  ...........  510 


CONTENTS  xv 

III.  The  Movement  Toward  Realism 518 

(a)  Positivism 523 

(a)  French  Positivism.     Comte 524 

(/9)  English  Positivism.    Mill  and  Spencer  .    .    .  533 

(6)  Modern  Science  and  the  Theory  of  Evolution  .     .  536 
(c)   Modern  Sociology.     Social  Democracy  and  Its  "View 

of  Life 543 

IV.  The  Reaction  Against  Realism 553 

(a)  Idealistic  Movements  in  the  Nineteenth  Century    .  554 

(6)   Subjectivism.    Nietzsche 559 

V.  The  Present  Situation 565 

VI.  The  American  View  of  Life 570 

Appendices 577 

Index  of  Names 605 

Index  of  Subjects 607 


INTRODUCTION 

WHAT  does  our  life  mean  when  viewed  as  a  whole  ?  What 
are  the  purposes  it  seeks  to  realise?  What  prospect  of  happi- 
ness does  it  hold  out  to  us?  To  ask  these  questions  is  to  set 
ourselves  the  Problem  of  Life,  nor  need  we  stay  to  justify  our 
right  to  ask  them.  They  force  themselves  on  us  to-day  with 
resistless  insistence.  They  are  the  cry  of  an  age  rent  in- 
wardly asunder,  its  heart  at  enmity  with  the  work  of  its 
hands.  The  labour  of  the  preceding  centuries,  nay,  of  the 
last  few  decades,  has  indeed  been  immeasurably  fruitful.  It 
has  given  birth  to  a  new  culture  and  to  new  views  of  the  uni- 
verse. But  its  triumphal  progress  has  not  implied  a  simul- 
taneous advancement  of  the  inward  life;  its  dazzling  victories 
have  not  been  won  for  the  spirit  and  substance  of  man.  With 
relentless  energy  it  has  driven  us  more  and  more  exclusively 
upon  the  world  without  us,  subduing  us  to  its  necessities,  press- 
ing us  more  and  more  closely  into  the  service  of  our  environ- 
ment. And  the  activities  of  our  life  ultimately  determine  our 
nature.  If  our  powers  are  wholly  concentrated  on  outward 
things  and  there  is  an  ever-diminishing  interest  in  the  inner 
life,  the  soul  inevitably  suffers.  Inflated  with  success,  we  yet 
find  ourselves  empty  and  poor.  We  have  become  the  mere 
tools  and  instruments  of  an  impersonal  civilisation  which  first 
uses  and  then  forsakes  us,  the  victims  of  a  power  as  pitiless  as 
it  is  inhuman,  which  rides  rough-shod  over  nations  and  indi- 
viduals alike,  ruthless  of  life  or  death,  knowing  neither  plan 
nor  reason,  void  of  all  love  or  care  for  man. 

A  movement  of  this  nature,  the  disintegrating  influences  of 
which  affect  so  closely  the  feelings  and  the  convictions  of  the 
individual,  cannot  subsist  long  without  reaction.  In  matters 
such  as  these,  the  problem  is  no  sooner  felt  than  the  reaction 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

begins.  Men  cannot  for  long  deny  their  spiritual  nature  and 
suppress  all  concern  for  its  welfare.  Their  inner  life  holds  its 
own  against  all  pressure  from  without;  it  persists  in  relating  all 
events  to  itself  and  summoning  them  for  judgment  before  its 
own  tribunal.  Even  opposition  serves  but  to  remind  the  Sub- 
ject of  the  fundamental  and  inalienable  rights  of  its  own  in- 
wardness and  freedom.  So  a  slumbering  giant  needs  only  to 
be  roused  to  the  consciousness  of  his  power  to  show  himself 
superior  to  all  the  forces  the  world  can  bring  against  him. 
And  when  simultaneously  with  these  changes  an  elemental 
passion  for  individuality  of  life  and  inner  well-being  asserts 
itself,  when  the  rationality  of  existence,  the  salvation  of  the 
soul,  become  pressing,  torturing  problems,  of  a  sudden  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  world  is  transformed;  that  which  was  once 
held  a  sure  possession  now  becomes  a  matter  of  painful  per- 
plexity and  an  object  of  weary  search. 

A  regenerative  movement  of  this  kind  is  now  in  perceptible 
progress:  and  though  the  Powers  of  Mechanism  still  continue 
to  extend  their  outward  sway,  our  faith  in  them  is  shaken  and 
the  struggle  against  them  has  begun.  Great  movements  are 
abroad  to-day  which,  despite  manifold  differences  of  tendency, 
converge  to  a  common  issue.  The  passionate  impetus  of  the 
social  movement,  the  evidences  of  increasing  religious  earnest- 
ness, the  ferment  of  artistic  creation,  all  express  one  and  the 
same  desire,  an  ardour  of  longing  for  more  happiness,  for  a 
fuller  development  of  our  human  nature,  for  a  new  and  a  loftier 
order  of  life. 

And  yet,  despite  its  progress,  the  movement  is  still  in  many 
respects  very  incomplete  and  chaotic.  It  is  not  only  that  cer- 
tain of  its  side-currents  variously  intersect  and  frustrate  each 
other;  the  main  stream  itself  is  a  curious  blend  of  higher  and 
lower,  nobility  and  meanness,  youthful  freshness  and  senile 
punctiliousness.  Instead  of  seeking  to  transform  his  inward 
experience  into  an  ordered  cosmos  and  to  strengthen  freedom 
into  law,  the  Subject  is  apt  to  measure  his  progress  by  the  ex- 
tent to  which  he  can  dispense  with  all  authority,  not  excluding 


INTRODUCTION  xk 

that  of  his  own  nature.  Breaking  free  from  all  restraint,  he  is 
borne  aloft  like  some  vain  empty  bubble,  the  plaything  of  wind 
and  weather,  and  falls  an  easy  prey  to  every  kind  of  irrationality 
and  folly.  Thus  we  are  conscious  primarily  of  an  atmosphere 
of  ferment,  restlessness,  passion.  We  preserve  our  faith  in  the 
rationality  of  the  movement  only  by  treating  it  as  a  mere  begin- 
ning and  trusting  that  the  spiritual  necessity  at  work  within  it 
will  in  the  end  prevail  over  all  individual  illusions  and  conceits 
and  build  up  the  inward  life  on  a  systematic  and  well-ordered 
plan.  To  this  end,  however,  our  untiring  co-operation  is  essen- 
tial: we  must  sift  and  separate,  clarify  and  deepen.  Only 
through  the  strain  of  self-conflict  can  the  Age  truly  realise 
itself,  and  accomplish  its  part  in  the  evolution  of  the  world's 
history. 

Nor  can  Philosophy  stand  aloof  from  the  struggle;  she  also 
has  her  part  to  play.  Is  she  not  pre-eminently  fitted  to  give  this 
movement  a  large  and  generous  meaning,  to  clear  it  from  con- 
fusion and  direct  it  toward  its  ultimate  goal?  Her  first  duty 
indeed  is  to  the  present  and  to  the  problems  of  the  day;  nor  is 
she  at  liberty  to  take  refuge  from  present  issues  in  a  near  or  a 
distant  past.  Historical  considerations  are — for  the  philosopher 
— subsidiary;  and  yet,  if  he  respects  the  limitations  under  which 
they  can  alone  be  of  service  to  him,  they  may  most  effectively 
support  his  own  personal  conviction.  We  would  then  briefly 
consider  the  following  view:  that  it  is  both  possible  and  useful 
to  represent  to  ourselves  in  a  living  way  the  various  philosophies 
of  life  as  they  have  taken  shape  in  the  minds  of  the  great  think- 
ers. For  with  this  contention  is  bound  up  the  whole  success  or 
failure  of  our  present  undertaking. 

If  these  philosophies  are  to  be  of  any  help  to  us,  we  must 
give  to  the  term  ''philosophy  of  life"  a  deeper  meaning  than  it 
usually  bears.  We  cannot  interpret  it  as  a  set  of  select  utter- 
ances on  the  subject  of  human  life  and  destiny,  or  as  a  collec- 
tion of  occasional  reflections  and  confessions.  For  such  de- 
liverances spring  frequently  from  the  mere  mood  of  the  mo- 
ment, and  serve  to  conceal  rather  than  reveal  the  essential 


xx  INTRODUCTION 

quality  of  their  author's  thought.  Moreover,  shallow  natures 
are  not  infrequently  prodigal  of  confession — natures  that  have 
little  that  is  worth  confiding— while  deeper  souls  are  apt  to 
withdraw  their  emotion  from  the  public  gaze,  holding  it  sacred 
to  the  heart  or  bodying  it  forth  only  in  their  work. 

No;  we  are  not  concerned  with  the  reflections  of  these 
thinkers  about  life,  but  with  life  itself  as  it  is  fashioned  forth  in 
their  world  of  thought.  We  ask  what  light  they  have  thrown 
upon  human  existence,  what  place  and  purport  they  assign  to 
it,  how  they  combine  its  active  with  its  passive  functions;  in 
a  word,  what  is  the  character  of  human  life  as  they  conceive  it  ? 
This  question  draws  together  the  different  threads  of  their 
thought  and  reveals  to  us  the  very  depths  of  their  soul.  They 
become  easy  of  access  and  of  comprehension;  they  can  make 
themselves  known  to  us  quite  simply  and  speak  in  plain,  straight- 
forward fashion  to  all  who  will  give  them  a  hearing.  Surely 
this  quest  offers  strong  inducement  to  every  receptive  mind. 
From  the  abundance  of  these  great  personalities  must  there 
not  be  some  overflow  of  strength,  something  that  will  purify, 
ennoble,  and  level  up  our  own  endeavour? 

Nor  need  we  be  troubled  with  the  question  whether  these 
great  thinkers  supply  everything  that  is  essential  and  valuable 
in  human  achievement.  We  can  at  least  say  that  they  con- 
stitute the  soul  of  it.  For  true  creative  work,  the  upbuilding  of 
a  realm  of  spiritual  meanings  and  values,  is  not  the  product  of 
mediocrity,  but  arises  rather  out  of  a  direct  antagonism  to  all 
that  is  petty  and  small  in  human  affairs.  On  the  lower  level, 
spiritual  activity  is  much  too  closely  blent  with  alien  and  in- 
ferior elements,  too  solely  at  the  disposal  of  small-minded  aims, 
for  it  to  be  capable  of  producing  any  clearly  defined  and  dis- 
tinctive conceptions  of  life.  At  all  periods,  it  has  been  only 
the  few  who  have  possessed  the  greatness  of  mind,  the  inward 
freedom,  the  constructive  power  which  alone  make  it  possible 
to  pursue  the  path  of  creative  activity  as  an  end  in  itself,  to 
wrest  unity  from  chaos,  to  win  through  the  stress  and  strain 
of  true  creative  work  that  glad  and  sure  se'f-confidence  without 


INTRODUCTION 


xxi 


which  thought  has  no  stability  and  work  no  profit.  This,  how- 
ever, does  not  mean  that  the  creative  genius  is  independent  of 
his  social  and  historical  environment.  Even  that  which  is 
greatest  has  its  necessary  presuppositions  and  conditions.  The 
soil  must  be  ready,  the  age  must  contribute  the  stimulus  of  its 
special  problems,  enthusiasm  must  be  trained  to  willing  ser- 
vice. To  this  limited  extent  a  genius  is  but  the  ripe  expression 
of  his  epoch,  and  the  luminous  idea  only  serves  to  intensify 
aspirations  already  alive  in  the  community.  But  none  the  less 
does  the  great  man  lift  the  common  life  to  an  essentially  higher 
plane.  He  does  not  merely  unify  existing  tendencies,  but  brings 
about  an  inner  transformation :  he  ennobles  the  whole  message 
of  the  age.  For  it  is  he  who  first  clearly  distinguishes  the 
spiritual  from  the  merely  human,  the  eternal  from  the  tem- 
poral, who  first  gives  to  life  an  independent  worth,  a  value  of 
its  own,  who  first  attains  to  the  conception  of  universal  and 
imperishable  truth.  In  so  far  as  the  Eternal  can  be  appre- 
hended under  time  conditions,  it  is  so  apprehended  by  the  great 
man;  it  is  he  who  first  frees  it  from  its  temporal  setting  to  be- 
come a  possession  for  all  time.  If  then  the  creative  geniuses 
of  humanity  are  the  true  foci  of  all  spiritual  life,  if  in  them  its 
rays,  else  scattered,  are  concentrated  to  burn  thereafter  with  an 
intensified,  inextinguishable  flame  that  in  turn  reillumines  the 
whole, — then  surely  we  may  take  comfort  and  rest  assured 
that  in  studying  the  work  of  such  men  we  are  touching  the  very 
pulse  of  all  creative  activity. 

And  the  same  reason  that  makes  it  worth  our  while  to  study 
them  individually  renders  it  equally  advisable  to  consider 
carefully  the  relations  of  each  to  his  contemporaries  and  suc- 
cessors. In  the  contemplation  of  these  various  types  we  be- 
come more  distinctly  and  vividly  aware  of  the  different  schemes 
of  life  open  to  us.  The  extremes  between  which  we  ordinarily 
oscillate  are  here  set  forth  in  most  palpable  form,  and  help  to 
explain  each  other  while  defining  their  own  positions  ever  more 
clearly.  But  as  the  ages  pass  and  one  set  of  conditions  is  re- 
placed by  another,  there  is  a  tendency  for  the  permanent  to 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

become  confused  with  the  transitory.  On  the  one  hand,  our 
multiplicity  of  systems  seems  to  admit  of  reduction  to  a  limited 
number  of  simple  types,  which,  like  the  motifs  of  a  tune,  con- 
stantly recur  through  all  changes  of  environment,  and  yet  we 
perceive  at  the  same  time  a  steady  progress,  a  constant  influx 
of  what  is  new.  Life  and  the  world  open  out  in  ever-broadening 
vistas.  Problems  of  increasing  difficulty  arise;  the  current  flows 
swifter  and  stronger.  The  whole  detailed  story  would  be  needed 
to  show  us  what  this  movement  has  achieved  for  us.  We  may 
not  forestall  the  conclusion  by  any  hasty  generalising.  So  much, 
however,  we  may  say,  that  if  at  first  the  history  of  philosophy 
seem  like  a  battle  in  which  every  man's  hand  is  against  his 
fellow,  in  which  the  leaders  are  so  engrossed  with  the  develop- 
ment of  their  own  individuality  that  they  repel  rather  than 
attract  each  other,  yet  we  must  not  on  this  account  despair  of 
unity  and  progress.  One  doctrine  defies  another  only  so  long 
as  the  respective  systems  are  regarded  in  the  light  of  finished 
results  and  the  intellect  is  called  upon  to  be  the  sole  and  final 
arbiter  of  every  question.  Now  it  is  precisely  from  such  in- 
adequate conceptions  that  this  study  of  ours  can  rescue  us. 
When  we  ask  how  our  great  thinkers  looked  at  life,  we  see  that 
their  thought  had  its  source  in  the  depths  of  the  life-process 
itself,  that  its  course  is  determined  by  certain  vital  needs, 
that  it  is  but  the  expression  of  an  inward  struggle  toward 
truth  and  happiness  and  spirituality.  On  the  larger  plane  of 
this  life-process  many  things  help  and  supplement  each  other 
which  in  the  more  narrow  and  definite  region  of  conceptual 
thinking  are  frankly  antagonistic.  It  were  even  possible  that 
all  divisions  should  be  included  within  one  general  progressive 
movement,  and  that  in  the  friction  of  one  mind  with  another 
we  should  find  the  true  seat  of  creative  activity.  Now  the 
principal  phases  of  this  movement  are  given  us  by  the  great 
thinkers,  if  we  but  pierce  to  the  heart  of  their  endeavour.  It 
is  under  then*  guidance  that  we  may  be  led  from  a  remote  past 
to  the  very  threshold  of  our  own  day.  It  is  they  who  can  make 
the  past  live  again  for  us,  put  us  in  possession  of  all  that  human 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

effort  has  achieved,  and  transplant  us  from  a  present  of  mere 
immediacy  into  a  present  that  transcends  our  time-experience. 
It  is  this  wider,  more  significant  present  that  we  so  sorely  need 
to-day;  we  need  it  to  counteract  the  rush  and  hurry  of  everyday 
life,  the  narrowness  of  party  spirit,  the  looseness  of  prevalent 
standards.  Surely  in  fighting  these  things  we  do  well  to  sum- 
mon to  our  aid  the  life-work  of  the  great  thinkers. 

But,  with  all  its  attractions,  the  undertaking  is  fraught  with 
difficulties  »f  no  ordinary  kind.  Can  we  bring  the  object  of  our 
study  close  to  us,  can  we  enter  into  sympathetic  communion 
with  him,  and  yet  observe  the  necessary  amount  of  objectivity 
in  our  treatment  ?  The  answer  must  depend  on  what  we  mean 
by  objectivity.  What  we  certainly  do  not  want  is  an  objectivity 
which  fights  shy  of  all  subjective  verdicts;  for  such  objective 
treatment,  no  matter  how  exact  and  thorough,  can  do  no  more 
than  collect  and  arrange  the  data,  and  if  it  gives  even  a  passable 
presentation  of  its  object,  it  only  does  so  inadvertently  by  filling 
in  the  gaps  with  merely  conventional  appreciations.  No!  At 
every  moment  our  task  compels  us  to  judge  for  ourselves,  to 
classify  and  divide,  to  sift  and  to  separate.  This  is  true  even 
as  regards  such  relatively  external  matters  as  the  choice  of 
material;  much  more  do  we  need  to  exercise  independence  of 
judgment  if  we  would  penetrate  to  the  unity  which  underlies 
and  dominates  the  most  varied  forms  of  expression,  if  we  would 
share  the  inward  experiences  of  the  great  men  whom  we  study, 
and  recognise  that  they  are  organically  related  to  each  other 
and  linked  together  in  one  unbroken  sequence.  And  yet, 
whilst  we  discountenance  an  unspiritual  objectivity,  it  must  not 
be  supposed  that  we  give  ourselves  over  to  an  unbridled  sub- 
jectivity. It  cannot  be  right  for  us  to  interpret  the  personality 
we  are  studying  in  the  light  of  our  subjective  preferences,  or 
develop  his  meaning  only  in  so  far  as  he  seems  to  confirm  our 
previous  convictions.  Such  a  procedure  would  never  allow  us 
to  penetrate  to  his  real  self;  still  less  would  it  acquaint  us  with 
the  inner  currents  of  human  progress,  or  conduce  to  that  larger 
thought  and  wider  horizon  which  we  hope  to  gain  through  our 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

inquiry.  We  conclude,  then,  that  while  striving  to  get  into  close 
contact  with  each  thinker,  we  must  yet  not  obtrude  ourselves 
too  far.  We  must  allow  him  to  speak  for  himself  and  to  make 
good  his  own  position.  Our  final  verdict  must  not  be  the  result 
of  individual  reflection;  it  must  be  reached  through  a  vivid  por- 
trayal of  the  man  himself  and  of  the  influence  he  has  exercised 
on  the  world  at  large.  Nothing  should  be  to  us  more  vitally 
important  than  the  endeavour  to  re-establish  a  direct  relation 
between  reader  and  Thinker.  That  such  an  undertaking  im- 
plies at  the  same  time  an  independent  stand-point,  particularly 
in  relation  to  the  Philosophy  of  History,  will  be  at  once  obvious 
to  all  who  are  familiar  with  such  questions. 

Other  difficulties  arise  out  of  our  relationship  to  learned 
specialisation.  We  have  no  quarrel  with  specialisation  in  it- 
self. For  not  only  does  the  very  growth  of  detailed  inquiry 
call  for  the  syntheses  that  shall  gather  the  detail  together;  these 
more  comprehensive  pictures  themselves  gain  their  richness 
from  the  detail.  The  more  exact  our  information  as  to  the 
relation  of  the  Thinker  to  his  historical  and  social  environment, 
the  more  skilful  the  analysis  of  his  work  into  its  component 
threads,  the  more  clear-cut  and  vivid  will  the  outlines  of  our 
picture  become.  A  quarrel  becomes  inevitable  only  when  the 
specialist  brooks  no  other  work  than  his,  when  he  thinks  his 
apparatus  sufficient  to  fathom  the  whole  personality,  when  he 
tries  to  explain  greatness  as  the  accumulated  result  of  infin- 
itesimal accretions;  for  what  really  makes  the  Thinker  great  is 
that  which  transcends  mere  historical  explanation:  it  is  the 
power  of  original  creation,  the  Unity  which  animates  and 
illumines  everything  from  within.  And  to  this,  mere  learning 
and  criticism  are  necessarily  blind.  It  reveals  itself  only  to  an 
Intuition  whose  mode  of  apprehension  is  sympathetically  crea- 
tive. It  is  even  possible  that  the  merely  learned  study  of  a 
personality  may  remove  us  further  from  him,  by  interposing 
between  the  spectator  and  the  object  something  that  claims 
attention  for  itself,  thus  disturbing  the  total  impression.  Let 
us  beware  then  of  confusing  accidentals  with  essentials,  means 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

with  ends;  of  overlooking  ideas  in  our  anxiety  about  facts,  and 
making  original  research  do  duty  for  spiritual  intuition. 

We  are  bound,  in  entering  upon  the  present  work,  to  ob- 
serve the  utmost  care  and  caution.  But  we  must  not  let  the 
difficulties  daunt  us  and  cloud  the  joy  with  which  we  embark 
upon  our  task.  Despite  all  perplexities,  there  is  a  quite  peculiar 
charm — and  profit,  too,  shall  we  add — in  trying  to  understand 
how  the  great  thinkers  looked  at  life.  The  deep  yearning  for 
truth  and  happiness  which  breathes  from  all  their  writings 
carries  us  away  by  its  intensity;  and  yet  there  is  something 
magically  soothing  and  strengthening  in  the  mature  works  into 
which  such  yearnings  have  been  crystallised.  Different  though 
our  own  conviction  may  be,  we  rejoice  none  the  less  in  the 
victories  of  creative  genius  and  the  transparent  lucidity  of  its 
productions.  Our  culture  is  constantly  bringing  us  into  close 
touch  with  these  master-minds;  our  work  is  linked  with  theirs 
by  a  myriad  threads.  Yet,  closely  as  they  concern  us,  their 
personality  as  a  whole  is  often  strangely  unfamiliar;  there  may 
be  an  utter  absence  of  any  real  intimacy  between  us  and  them. 
We  gaze  into  the  Pantheon  from  without,  but  the  gods  do  not 
descend  from  their  lofty  pedestals  to  share  our  trials  and  sor- 
rows, nor  do  they  even  seem  to  be  fellow-workers  with  each 
other.  How  different  when  we  turn  to  the  inner  sources  of 
their  creative  activity,  when  we  penetrate  to  those  deep  regions 
of  the  spirit  in  which  their  work  reveals  itself  as  the  expression 
and  assertion  of  their  true  nature.  The  frozen  forms  then  warm 
into  life  and  begin  to  speak  to  us.  We  see  them  impelled  by  the 
same  problems  which  determine  our  own  weal  and  woe.  We 
also  see  them  linked  together  as  workers  in  one  common  task: 
the  task  of  building  up  a  spiritual  world  within  the  realm  of 
human  life,  of  proving  our  existence  to  be  both  spiritual  and 
rational.  The  walls  of  division  break  down  at  last,  and  we  pass 
into  the  Pantheon  as  into  a  world  that  belongs  to  us,  as  into  our 
own  spiritual  home. 


PART  FIRST 
HELLENISM 


HELLENISM 


A.    THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD 

I.     PRELIMINARY  REMARKS  ON  THE  GREEK  CHARACTER 
AND  ON  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  HELLENISM 

A  JUST  estimate  of  the  Greek  thinkers  is  often  rendered 
difficult  by  an  overestimate  of  the  average  character  of  the  Greek 
people.  What  the  intellectual  leaders  produced  at  the  cost  of 
supreme  effort  is  vaguely  attributed  to  the  natural  endowment 
of  the  people  as  a  whole.  Because  creative  activity  at  its  height 
found  joy  and  felicity  in  itself,  and  from  this  elevation  shed 
abroad  a  bright  serenity  of  mood,  Greek  life  in  general  puts  on 
the  appearance  of  a  perpetual  festival;  and  because  among  the 
great  a  distinguished  sentiment  scorned  all  considerations  of 
mere  utility,  the  thinking  and  feeling  of  the  whole  nation  seems 
raised  to  intellectual  nobility.  Thus  the  creations  of  genius 
appear  to  be  scarcely  more  than  a  precipitation  of  the  social 
atmosphere.  But  this  impression  rapidly  vanishes  on  closer 
view.  Whoever  follows  the  average  political  activity  of  the 
Greeks,  with  its  unrest  and  passion,  its  envy  and  malice; 
whoever  considers  the  multitudinous  forms  of  Greek  avarice 
and  Greek  craftiness;  whoever  turns  from  Greek  comedy  to 
cast  a  glance  at  the  often  downright  repulsive  everyday  life 
— will  soon  be  convinced  that  even  the  Greeks  were  men  like 
ourselves,  that  they  too  did  not  acquire  their  greatness  as  a 
simple  inheritance  from  nature,  but  had  to  achieve  it  by  hard 
struggle,  even  against  themselves.  Accordingly,  the  position 
of  the  great  thinkers  is  relatively  raised,  and  we  see  that 


4  HELLENISM 

their  life-work  extends  its  influence  far  beyond  their  immediate 
surroundings. 

But  to  contend  for  the  great  superiority  of  the  thinkerb  as 
compared  with  the  average  does  not  imply  that  we  would  detach 
them  from  the  intellectual  character  of  the  nation.  Rather, 
the  common  intellectual  life,  with  its  strength  and  freshness,  its 
mobility  and  buoyancy,  prepared  the  way  for  the  thinkers,  and 
surrounded  them  with  a  stimulating,  formative,  and  guiding 
influence.  True,  they  could  not  realise  their  aims  without 
trusting  above  all  to  their  own  genius,  and  without  unhesitatingly 
waging  war  upon  the  popular  traditions.  But  then*  labours 
had  not  the  depressing  isolation  and  loneliness  which  later  ages, 
with  a  more  erudite  culture  and  more  complex  conditions  of 
life,  often  show.  This  close  relationship  of  the  thinkers  with 
their  people  is  particularly  noteworthy  during  the  epoch  of  the 
moulding  of  civilisation  by  national  forces,  which  will  first  occupy 
us;  but  it  is  not  lost  hi  the  Hellenistic  period,  when  the  tendency 
is  to  pass  from  the  national  to  the  broadly  human  standpoint^ 
and  when  thought  is  rather  the  work  of  isolated  individuals. 
Indeed,  even  in  the  later,  confused  times,  when  Hellenism  was 
submerged  by  the  enormous  influx  of  foreign  elements,  the 
smaller  arteries  of  the  national  life  still  showed  traces  of  the 
classical  way  of  thinking;  thus  even  upon  the  approaching 
night  was  shed  a  ray  of  the  same  sun  under  whose  full  splendour 
the  immortal  masterpieces  were  perfected. 

Accordingly,  to  form  a  just  appreciation  of  the  Greek  thinkers, 
we  must  first  recall  their  intellectual  environment.  Nothing 
about  the  Greeks  impresses  one  more  than  their  great  energy  of 
life,  the  strong  impetus  toward  the  development  of  every  faculty, 
the  youthful,  ever-fresh  pleasure  in  creative  activity.  Indolence 
is  unsparingly  condemned;  action  does  not  need  the  endorse- 
ment of  a  reward — it  fascinates  and  delights  in  itself.  To  take 
up  an  active  relation  to  things  was  ever  the  essence  of  Greek 
wisdom.  But,  with  all  its  mobility,  action  here  never  leaves  the 
sphere  of  the  present  world;  it  does  not  presume  to  create  things 
of  its  own  initiative;  it  rather  assigns  to  the  objective  world  a 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD         5 

nature  of  its  own,  and  seeks  to  effect  a  fruitful  interaction,  by 
which  it  at  once  fashions  the  world  and  adjusts  itself  to  it. 
Consequently,  we  find  here  no  senseless  brooding,  no  dreamy 
weaving  of  detached  sentiments;  the  mood  always  springs  from 
and  follows  activity.  But  if  action  unites  us  so  closely  with 
things,  the  latter  can  be  of  use  to  us,  and  our  intellectual  nature 
will  communicate  itself  to  them.  The  Greek  habit  of  thought 
personifies  its  environment;  it  throws  out  on  all  sides  a  reflection 
of  human  life.  Since,  however,  it  does  not  rob  things  of  their 
peculiar  character,  they  have  a  reciprocal  effect  upon  human 
life,  and  enlarge,  clarify,  and  ennoble  it.  Hence  the  personifica- 
tion of  nature  by  the  Greeks  is  incomparably  more  refined  and 
fruitful  than  that  of  other  peoples;  and  human  life,  by  being 
thus  mirrored  objectively  in  the  universe,  receives  a  thorough 
purification  and  outgrows  the  crudity  of  nature. 

Action,  too,  is  the  best  defensive  weapon  amid  the  dangers 
and  trials  of  human  existence.  Whatever  fortunes  befell  the 
Greek,  his  attitude  was  active;  he  always  sought  to  bring  to 
bear  his  own  powers,  and  hence  to  wrest  something  rational 
from  every  experience,  even  from  suffering.  Whatever  was 
hostile  he  attacked  with  spirit,  and  if  he  could  not  completely 
conquer  it,  he  at  least  energetically  repelled  it.  In  such  a 
strife  man  unfolds  his  powers,  indeed  attains  that  greatness  of 
soul  which  makes  him  superior  to  the  world.  Such  an  attitude 
is  the  opposite  not  only  of  all  trifling  with  moral  evil,  but  also  of  a 
comfortable  optimism.  Where  the  experience  of  life  is  reflected 
so  fully  and  clearly  in  the  minds  of  men  as  appears  in  the  intel- 
lectual work  of  the  Greeks,  the  antagonistic  forces  also  will  be 
deeply  felt.  In  fact,  Hellenism  wrestled  in  good  earnest  with 
all  manner  of  obstacles;  it  steadily  modified  both  the  world  of 
things  and  itself;  in  time  its  activity  necessarily  became  more 
and  more  purely  inward.  But  so  long  as  it  endured,  it  found 
the  means  of  remaining  active;  and  from  such  an  active  attitude 
it  drew  ever  fresh  courage,  and  even  under  the  growing  harshness 
of  life  it  steadfastly  asserted  that  the  core  of  existence  is  rational. 
Hence  prominent  modern  scholars  are  in  error  when  they  declare 


6  HELLENISM 

that  the  Greeks  were  pessimists.  For  no  one  is  a  pessimist 
merely  because  he  feels  deeply  the  suffering  of  life;  rather  it  is 
he  who  yields  to  it,  who  gives  up  striving  because  of  it.  And 
that  the  Greeks  never  did. 

Just  as  man  here  places  his  chief  reliance  on  activity,  so  also 
his  creations  are  instinct  with  life  and  action.  Human  societies, 
particularly  his  own  native  state,  appear  as  living  beings,  animate 
individuals;  furthermore,  nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  the 
works  of  Greek  art  than  that  they  are  embodiments  of  spiritual 
movement.  This  animation  extends  to  the  smallest  elements; 
even  what  is  otherwise  rigid  and  dead  here  manifests  the  pulsa- 
tion of  inner  life. 

This  eager  attitude  toward  the  world  of  things  leads  us  to 
expect  both  that  man's  activity  will  do  full  justice  to  the  wealth 
of  the  actual  world  and  that  it  will  itself  be  developed  into  greater 
versatility.  And  we  find,  in  fact,  that  the  work  of  civilisation 
extends  with  wonderful  universality  into  every  sphere;  all  the 
realms  of  experience  are  successively  explored,  and  to  each  is 
rendered  its  due.  Movements  which  elsewhere  exclude  one 
another  are  here  taken  up  with  equal  vigour  and  sympathy, 
and  all  the  chief 'tendencies  shown  by  the  development  of  civilisa- 
tion down  even  to  the  present  time  are  found  in  germ.  Who- 
ever disputes  this,  and  denies  that  the  Greeks  were  great  in 
religion,  for  instance,  or  in  law,  in  exact  science  or  in  technical 
inventions,  either  estimates  their  achievements  by  alien  standards 
or  confines  himself  to  the  period  alone  celebrated  as  classical. 
In  particular,  the  attention  of  modern  critics  often  dwells  too 
exclusively  on  what  may  indeed  be  the  greatest,  but  is  by  no 
means  the  sole,  characteristic  of  the  Greeks,  namely,  their  power 
of  synthesis,  of  artistic  shaping  into  a  whole.  But  that  the 
Greeks  were  also  strong  in  sober  observation,  in  acute  analysis, 
and  in  illuminating  reflection,  is  equally  true,  and  belongs  no 
less  to  the  complete  picture  of  their  intellectual  traits. 

Such  breadth  prevents  their  work  as  a  whole  from  being 
cramped  and  narrowed  by  the  peculiar  nature  of  a  single  domain; 
rather  it  is  left  free  and  receptive  enough  to  assimilate  something 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD         7 

from  all  sides;  and  by  these  many-sided  experiences  progress 
is  made.  This  elasticity  renders  possible  a  significant  history; 
great  changes  may  take  place  without  a  loss  of  the  traditional 
character  and  without  destroying  the  continuity.  The  Greek 
considers  himself  distinguished  from  the  barbarian  in  nothing 
so  much  as  in  the  breadth  and  freedom  of  his  life,  when  compared 
with  the  torpid  narrow-mindedness  of  the  latter. 

Kindred  to  freedom  is  lucidity.  Whatever  touches  and  moves 
man,  whatever  befalls  him  from  without,  and  what  is  given  to  him 
from  within,  must  alike  attain  complete  transparency.  Not  until 
it  does  so,  not  until  all  the  obscurity  of  the  first  stages  is  removed, 
and  the  result  stands  forth  clear  as  sunlight,  can  any  experience 
be  recognised  as  forming  part  of  human  life  and  activity. 

This  striving  for  clearness,  however,  differentiates  itself  into 
two  movements,  which  at  once  oppose  and  supplement  each 
other,  namely,  a  theoretical  and  an  artistic  movement. 

On  the  one  hand,  there  is  the  eager  impulse  to  understand, 
to  dispel  all  obscurity  from  the  world  by  vigorous  thought. 
What  is  here  required  is  to  bring  order  out  of  the  given  confusion, 
to  concatenate  all  phenomena,  to  refer  the  various  expressions 
of  life  to  a  common  basis,  to  discern  amid  all  change  abiding 
entities.  Such  an  effort  is  indeed  much  older  than  theoretical 
knowledge ;  even  the  earliest  literary  creations  contain,  although 
in  veiled  form,  the  thought  of  a  universal  order  of  things,  a 
disavowal  of  vague,  blind  chance.  But  the  theoretical  move- 
ment cannot  rise  to  the  plane  of  science  without  shifting  the 
point  of  view  from  the  visible  to  the  invisible  world.  Indeed, 
by  its  growth  in  independence,  thought  eventually  becomes 
strong  enough  to  trust  solely  to  its  own  necessary  laws,  and  to 
sacrifice  the  whole  sensuous  world,  i.  e.,  degrade  it  to  the  rank 
of  mere  appearance,  in  order  to  achieve  knowledge  of  true  being. 
By  this  development  the  Greeks  become  the  creators  of  meta- 
physic.  But  the  metaphysical  trait  characterising  their  work 
extends  far  beyond  academic  science;  for  great  thoughts  pervade 
their  whole  life  and  creative  activity.  Even  in  the  mental  life 
of  the  individual,  the  same  impulse  leads  to  clearness  and  to 


8  HELLENISM 

definite  consciousness;  whatever  cannot  give  a  rational  account 
of  itself  is  esteemed  of  little  value;  lucid  knowledge  must  accom- 
pany and  illuminate  all  conduct.  Indeed,  insight  becomes  the 
innermost  soul  of  life;  goodness  appears  to  depend  upon  correct 
knowledge;  evil,  on  the  other  hand,  is  an  intellectual  mistake, 
an  error  of  judgment. 

But  this  predominance  of  the  intellectual,  this  resolution  of 
existence  into  abstract  conceptions,  is  counterbalanced  by  the 
strong  desire  for  sense-perception  and  for  artistic  form.  The 
Greek  wants  not  only  to  understand  but  to  see;  he  \vants  to 
have  the  image  as  a  whole  before  him,  and  to  hold  fast  to  its 
sensuous  existence;  exact  thought  finds  a  companion  in  light- 
winged  fantasy;  yet  even  the  latter  is  not  without  laws,  but 
steadily  aims  at  proportion,  order,  and  harmony.  Everything 
here  tends  to  assume  completely  definite  shape;  all  form  is  out- 
wardly limited  and  in  itself  graduated;  all  relations  are  duly 
considered  and  definitely  established;  everything  individual,  by 
imposing  a  limit,  receives  one.  The  extension  of  this  formative 
activity  over  the  world  of  experience  transforms  the  original 
chaos  into  a  cosmos;  it  also  banishes  everything  uncouth  and 
grotesque.  Above  all,  the  eye  must  be  gratified;  for  its  percep- 
tions reveal  the  full  splendour  of  beauty,  and  lead  up  to  the  moun- 
tain tops  of  life.  Such  an  attitude  is  intolerant  of  any  chasm 
between  inner  and  outer;  it  is  not  satisfied  with  dreamy  intima- 
tions or  symbolic  allusions;  for  it,  delineation  is  not  an  acces- 
sory, but  the  indispensable  completion  of  the  thing  itself.  By 
this  demand  for  sense-perception,  activity  is  continually  being 
brought  back  to  the  immediate  world,  and  held  fast  there.  The 
recognition  of  the  multiplicity  of  things,  which  threatened  to 
disappear  before  the  unity  sought  for  by  thought,  here  upholds 
its  undoubted  rights;  while  beauty  shows  herself  to  be  the 
twin-sister  of  rigorous  truth.  The  union  of  these  two  tendencies, 
the  artistic  form  taken  by  intellectual  forces,  represents  the  high- 
est attainment  of  the  creative  activity  of  the  Greeks.  On  the 
one  hand,  the  instinct  for  form  prevents  the  search  for  truth 
from  detaching  itself  from  the  world  and  becoming  lost  in  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD         9 

pathless  and  the  illimitable;  on  the  other,  artistic  construction 
is  supplied  with  a  noble  material,  and  avoids  sinking  to  the  level 
of  mere  sensuous  charm  and  pleasure.  By  means  of  such  recip- 
rocal relations,  the  whole  acquires  inner  movement,  inexhaustible 
life,  and  perennial  freshness. 

A  thoroughly  unique  character  is  revealed  even  in  these  few 
traits;  and  this  is  the  character  which  furnishes  the  environ- 
ment for  the  work  of  the  philosophers  and  for  the  formation  of 
views  of  life.  But  views  of  life  of  the  philosophical  stamp  do  not 
appear  until  late;  and  when  they  do  appear,  a  considerable 
intellectual  labour,  in  the  form  of  inner  liberation,  has  already 
been  accomplished.  The  more  naive  state,  in  which  man's  life 
was  closely  interwoven  with  the  visible  environment,  such  as  we 
see  depicted  in  the  Homeric  poems,  had  already  passed  away. 
And  the  growth  of  the  new  conditions  unfortunately  cannot  be 
traced,  owing  to  the  profound  darkness  that  obscures  the  inner 
movements  of  the  eighth  and  seventh  centuries;  and  because 
in  the  sixth  century  the  development  was  already  fully  unfolded, 
and  in  the  fifth  its  triumph  was  consummated.  All  the  principal 
spheres  of  life  were  by  this  time  pervaded  by  a  free  and  serious 
spirit. 

This  was  the  case,  first  of  all,  with  religion.  True,  the 
ancient  gods  were  still  held  in  honour,  but  their  traditional  repre- 
sentation was  none  the  less  subjected  to  a  searching  critique. 
Indignation  was  now  aroused  by  anything  which  gave  offence 
to  the  purified  moral  ideas;  open  conflict  with  the  older  views 
was  indeed  not  shunned,  but  also  in  a  quieter  way,  perhaps 
hardly  noticed,  a  transference  of  interest  to  the  moral  and  intel- 
lectual spheres  took  place.  At  the  same  time,  the  desire  for 
unity  grew ;  although  the  plurality  of  divinities  had  by  no  means 
disappeared,  polytheism  was  no  longer  a  simple  belief  in  co- 
existing deities;  for  a  single  divine  Being  was  discerned  as 
pervading  all  phenomena.  Also,  there  now  appeared  germs  of 
new  developments,  developments  in  different,  indeed  conflicting, 
directions.  From  the  side  of  theoretical  investigation  arose  a 
pantheistic  tendency,  the  conviction  that  there  is  an  all-compre- 


io  HELLENISM 

hensive  life,  an  impersonal  Deity,  from  which  the  soul  of  man  is 
derived,  and  to  which  it  returns  after  life's  course  is  run.  On 
the  other  hand,  from  a  deeper  sense  of  the  injustice  of  earthly 
things,  and  from  solicitude  for  personal  happiness  and  welfare, 
sprang  an  effort  to  rise  above  immediate  existence,  a  detaching 
of  the  soul  from  the  body,  a  belief  in  personal  immortality,  and 
a  hope  of  a  better  Beyond.  This  was  seen  in  the  Orphic  and 
Pythagorean  societies. 

At  the  same  time,  the  ethical  life  also  won  a  greater  indepen- 
dence and  inwardness;  in  particular,  the  idea  of  the  Mean  as  a 
moral  criterion  rose  to  power,  and  afforded  at  once  a  support  for 
the  mind  and  a  standard  for  conduct.  In  the  ethical  sphere, 
and  also  in  general,  poetry  exerted  a  powerful  influence  toward 
the  deepening  of  spiritual  life;  indeed,  an  influence  far  above 
that  exerted  by  the  maxims  of  the  aphorists.  The  development 
of  lyric  poetry,  too,  created  a  rich  emotional  life  and  increased 
the  self-consciousness  of  the  individual;  love,  or  Eros,  found  an 
expression  both  in  plastic  art  and  in  poetry.  But  the  more  in- 
ward and  sensitive  life  became,  the  more  difficult  were  the  prob- 
lems, and  the  deeper  grew  the  feeling  of  the  contradictions  of 
human  existence.  The  drama  courageously  attacked  these 
profounder  problems,  and  in  its  own  way  cast  up  the  sum  of 
human  destiny.  Before  philosophy  gave  a  support  to  life  the 
poets  were  the  teachers  of  wisdom,  the  intermediaries  between 
the  old  traditions  and  the  future  world  of  thought. 

The  changes  in  the  life  of  the  State,  moreover,  affected  the 
total  welfare  of  man.  The  growth  of  democracy  roused  indi- 
viduals to  activity  and  to  the  employment  of  all  their  powers; 
there  resulted  an  increase  of  the  points  of  contact,  and  of  the 
rapidity  of  the  development  of  life.  It  was  no  longer  possible 
to  take  the  traditional  regime  as  self-evident :  the  laws  were  codi- 
fied, and  thence  arose  general  problems;  people  began  to  inquire 
into  the  rationality  of  the  existing  order,  to  compare  the  political 
arrangements  of  other  states  with  their  own,  and  to  try  new 
schemes.  Thus,  much  passed  into  a  fluid  state,  and  a  wide 
field  was  opened  to  critical  discussion.  There  also  took  place 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       n 

an  outward  expansion  of  life  due  to  the  rapid  growth  of  trade 
and  commerce,  and  particularly  to  the  founding  of  the  colonies, 
which,  owing  to  the  contact  afforded  with  the  civilisations  of 
other  peoples,  powerfully  stimulated  the  minds  of  the  Greeks. 
It  was  therefore  no  accident  that  philosophy  took  its  rise  in  the 
colonies. 

With  the  change  in  the  manner  of  life,  the  outlook  upon  the 
world  changed.  Philosophy,  which  in  the  case  of  the  Greeks 
does  not  start  from  man  and  the  problem  of  his  happiness,  but 
from  the  universe  as  a  whole,  aims  to  comprehend  the  world  in 
a  natural  way,  by  means  of  its  own  interconnections;  it  seeks 
for  an  immutable  substance,  or  for  fixed  quantitative  relations. 
It  is  forced  to  discard  the  first  impression  of  things,  and  to 
destroy  their  visible  image;  but  with  a  sure  instinct  for  the 
essential  it  reconstructs  the  world  hi  outlines  whose  simplicity 
bears  the  marks  of  genius  and  excites  our  perpetual  wonder. 
Thus,  the  mythological  view  of  the  world  is  successfully 
transcended,  but  less  by  direct  attack  than  by  providing  a 
substitute. 

The  effort  to  reach  an  independent  explanation  of  things  re- 
ceived additional  assistance  from  astronomy.  By  showing  that 
the  movements  of  the  stars  are  constant  and  conform  to  law,  by 
discovering  fixed  systems  in  the  structure  of  the  universe  and 
uniting  the  whole  into  the  view  of  a  cosmos,  it  was  proved  that 
even  the  Deity  must  put  aside  all  arbitrary  power  and  submit 
to  the  sway  of  law.  The  independent  order  and  harmony  of 
things  proclaims  the  rationality  of  the  world  far  more  emphati- 
cally than  the  most  marvellous  interference  with  the  regular  course 
of  things  could  do.  That  such  a  rationality  not  only  sways  the 
great  world,  but  extends  also  to  what  is  minute,  to  the  apparently 
intangible,  as  it  appears  in  the  relations  of  number  and  limit, 
was  disclosed  in  a  startling  manner  by  the  discovery  of  the 
mathematical  relations  of  tones.  A  strong  influence  upon  the 
view  of  the  world  was  exerted  also  by  medicine.  Not  only  was 
this  science  forced  by  its  care  for  health  into  ascertaining  with 
more  exactness  the  causal  connections  within  its  own  field,  but 


i2  HELLENISM 

it  increased  the  precision  of  the  conception  of  causation  in 
general;  it  also  revealed  the  close  relation  of  man  to  nature,  and 
recognised  in  him  a  miniature  universe — the  microcosm,  which 
was  conceived  to  bear  within  itself  all  the  principal  fluids  and 
forces  of  the  great  world. 

Finally,  man's  own  life  and  conduct  were  subjected  to  the 
scrutiny  of  an  objective  examination.  The  historian's  art  had 
barely  attained  independence  before  it  manifested  also  a  critical 
spirit,  discriminated  and  sifted  authorities,  and  in  its  judgments 
of  human  destiny  diminished  and  restrained  the  element  of  the 
supernatural.  Although  writers  personally  maintained  a  pious 
reverence  for  the  invisible  powers,  the  trend  of  investigation  was 
toward  the  explanation  of  events  by  the  linking  of  causes  and 
effects,  and  toward  the  connecting  of  individual  destiny  with 
personal  conduct. 

The  simultaneous  development  of  all  these  movements  pre- 
sents a  marvellous  drama,  which  is  without  a  parallel  in  history. 
There  was  a  progress  of  incomparable  vigour  and  freshness, 
rising  from  dreamy  perplexity  and  childlike  submissiveness  to 
an  alert,  free,  manly  existence;  the  inner  life  steadily  grew  in 
independence,  and  the  narrowness  of  a  merely  human  view 
yielded  more  and  more  to  one  illuminated  by  knowledge  of  the 
universe.  In  the  midst  of  such  changes,  the  sense  of  man's 
power  emerged  and  grew;  great  personalities  appeared  and  made 
their  individual  traits  felt;  spiritual  unrest  seized  the  world; 
general  problems  sprang  up  and  dominated  thought;  every- 
where there  was  an  impulse  to  have  matters  cleared  up,  ex- 
plained, and  mentally  assimilated;  everywhere  there  was  a 
strong  development  in  intellectual  work  and  in  general  culture. 

Yet  this  progress  of  the  new  and  decline  of  the  old  did  not 
at  first  result  in  an  abrupt  break  or  complete  revolution.  In 
strengthening  his  own  powers,  man  had  not  yet  cut  himself 
loose  from  things,  nor  shaken  off  the  common  associations. 
The  time  had  not  come  when  the  individual  takes  his  stand 
solely  upon  his  own  resources  and  boldly  bids  defiance  to  the 
whole  world. 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       13 

W 

But  this  time  had  to  come,  and  it  came.  The  increased  power 
of  the  individual,  which  is  the  result  of  every  intellectual  move- 
ment on  a  large  scale,  eventually  produces  in  excitable  and  active 
minds  a  feeling  of  unlimited  superiority,  of  complete  indepen- 
dence. Such  a  tendency  transforms  intellectual  liberation  into 
"enlightenment";  and,  so  long  as  a  counterpoise  is  wanting, 
enlightenment  must  become  increasingly  radical.  Thinking 
resolves  itself  into  unrestrained  rationalism,  which  recognises 
as  valid  nothing  that  does  not  fall  in  with  its  processes  of  reason- 
ing; it  accordingly  develops  into  a  power  of  dissolution  and 
dissipation,  and  becomes  in  particular  the  mortal  enemy  of  his- 
torical tradition.  For  whatever  ancient  practices  and  customs 
it  brings  before  its  tribunal  are  already  judged  and  condemned 
by  the  summons.  If  there  is  nothing  constructive  with  which  to 
offset  this  disintegrating  process,  life  necessarily  becomes  more 
and  more  empty,  and  is  steadily  impelled  toward  a  disastrous 
crisis. 

Such  a  trend  toward  radical  enlightenment  is  exhibited  by  the 
Sophists.  A  just  appreciation  of  these  teachers  is  rendered 
especially  difficult  by  the  fact  that  the  principal  account  we  have 
of  them  is  transmitted  by  their  severest  critic,  and  that  the  con- 
clusions which  he  draws  may  easily  be  mistaken  for  their  own 
assertions.  Above  all,  the  Sophists  were  not  theorists  or  pure 
philosophers,  but  teachers,  teachers  of  a  versatile  cleverness  in 
practical  life,  i.  e.,  in  general  conduct  no  less  than  in  persuasive 
argument.  Their  aim  was  to  fit  their  pupils  to  do  something 
with  success;  they  sought  in  particular  to  give  them  an  advantage 
over  other  men  by  a  thorough  training  in  rhetoric  and  dialec- 
tic. These  aims  corresponded  to  a  need  of  the  times,  and  served 
to  rouse  and  develop  men's  minds.  But  closely  interwoven 
with  what  was  valuable  lay  not  a  little  that  was  questionable, 
indeed  unsound.  For  the  whole  movement  rested  upon  the 
conviction  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  objective  truth,  that  we 
are  bound  by  no  sort  of  universal  order,  that,  on  the  contrary, 
everything  depends  upon  the  -opinions  and  the  interests  of  men. 
Thus  man  became  "the  measure  of  all  things."  This  saying 


i4  HELLENISM 

may  be  differently  interpreted,  and  may  indeed  be  understood 
as  an  expression  of  a  profound  truth.  But  in  circumstances 
where  the  accidental  and  the  essential  in  man  had  not  yet  been 
distinguished,  where  a  conception  of  humanity  had  not  yet  de- 
tached itself  from  its  immediate  manifestation  in  individuals, 
the  phrase  meant  a  renunciation  of  all  universally  valid  standards, 
a  surrender  of  truth  to  men's  momentary  caprice  and  fluctuating 
inclinations.  In  other  words,  it  implied  that  everything  may  be 
turned  this  way  or  that,  and  differently  judged,  according  to  the 
point  of  view;  that  what  appears  as  the  right  may  be  represented 
as  the  wrong,  and  conversely;  and  that  any  cause  may  be  cham- 
pioned, according  to  the  necessities  of  the  case,  or  to  one's 
whim.  In  this  manner  life  is  gradually  degraded  into  a  means 
of  the  profit,  the  self-indulgence,  even  the  sport,  of  the  single 
individual,  who  acknowledges  no  restraints,  feels  no  respect,  and 
scoffs  at  the  laws  as  being  mere  statutes,  as  an  invention  of  the 
weak,  to  which  he  opposes  the  power  and  advantage  of  the 
stronger  as  the  real  natural  right.  Thus  the  good  yields  to  the 
profitable;  all  valuations  become  relative;  nowhere  does 
conviction  find  a  secure  foothold,  nowhere  does  conduct  find  a 
goal  that  lifts  man  above  himself,  or  that  commands  his  respect. 
To  be  sure,  such  a  doctrine  of  relativity  also  has  a  justification, 
and  every  philosophical  view  must  give  it  due  consideration. 
But  raised  to  a  sovereign  position,  it  becomes  the  deadly  enemy 
of  everything  great  and  true.  Its  dialectic  will  then  inevitably 
disintegrate  all  solid  foundations,  its  clever  play  destroy  the 
seriousness  and  all  the  deep  meaning  of  life:  the  subjective 
sense  of  power,  and  all  the  talk  about  power,  less  and  less  conceal 
the  lack  of  genuine  force,  and  the  hollowness  of  the  whole 
Sophistic  structure.  Finally,  such  shifty  and  flippant  doings  end 
in  frivolity.  Yet  there  is  nothing  which  mankind  tolerates  less 
in  the  long  run  than  a  frivolous  treatment  of  the  chief  problems 
of  its  happiness  and  its  intellectual  existence. 

Still,  it  is  easier  to  find  fault  with  the  Sophists  than  to  transcend 
their  position.  The  liberation  of  the  individual  subject  does  not 
admit  of  being  simply  revoked,  for  it  has  forever  destroyed  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       15 

power  of  mere  authority  and  tradition  to  carry  conviction.  The 
position  can  be  surmounted  only  by  an  inner  development  of  life, 
in  which  the  subject  discovers  within  himself  new  relationships 
and  new  laws,  and  finds  rising  in  his  own  soul  a  spiritual  world, 
which  shall  free  man  from  arbitrary  power  and  give  him  an  inner 
stability.  To  have  accomplished  this  is  the  greatest  service 
rendered  by  Greek  philosophy;  and  it  also  marks  the  highest 
point  reached  in  its  development. 

The  movement  is  started  by  Socrates.  The  character  of  his 
activity  so  closely  resembles  that  of  the  Sophists  in  its  outward 
aspect  that,  in  the  judgment  of  many  of  his  contemporaries,  he  is 
simply  to  be  classed  with  them.  He  too  is  active  as  a  teacher, 
and  seeks  to  prepare  young  men  for  life;  he  too  argues  and  dis- 
cusses; he  too  wants  to  establish  everything  before  the  bar  of 
reason;  for  him  also  man  is  the  chief  object  of  interest:  in  short, 
he  seems  to  be  an  "  enlightener,"  like  the  rest.  But,  unlike  them, 
he  attains  a  stable  position,  from  which  all  thought  and  life  are 
transformed.  To  him  is  revealed  an  insight  into  the  profound 
difference  between  the  varied  and  changing  opinions  of  men  and 
the  concepts  of  scientific  thought.  In  these  concepts  there  ap- 
pears something  fixed,  immutable,  universally  valid;  something 
which  exerts  a  compelling  influence,  and  excludes  what  is  arbi- 
trary. Thus  the  whole  of  life  becomes  a  subject  of  investigation. 
For  the  aim  now  is,  by  the  analysis  and  criticism  of  concepts, 
to  test  the  whole  content  of  human  existence  as  to  its  validity,  to 
dispel  every  illusion,  and  to  reduce  life  and  action  to  their  true 
terms.  In  this  effort,  Socrates  does  not  achieve  the  result  of  a 
completed  system;  his  work  remains  a  quest,  a  quest  that  ever 
begins  anew.  True,  he  devises  special  methods  for  the  dis- 
covery and  definition  of  concepts;  yet  he  cannot  apply  them 
alone,  but  only  in  converse  with  other  men,  in  regulated  dis- 
course. Hence  his  life  and  labour  become  a  ceaseless  dialogue. 
He  remains  in  close  touch  with  men,  since  his  investigations  are 
throughout  concerned  with  the  practical  moral  life.  By  estab- 
lishing this  life  upon  rational  insight,  the  good  is  raised  above 
the  caprice  of  individual  opinion,  and  a  new  conception  of  virtue 


16  HELLENISM 

won.  The  vital  thing  now  is  not  the  outward  performance,  and 
the  consequence  for  human  society,  but  the  inner  conformity, 
the  health  and  harmony  of  the  soul.  The  inner  life  thus  attains 
independence  and  individual  worth;  and  it  is  so  completely 
absorbed  in  itself  that  all  questions  of  outward  fortune  fade  into 
insignificance.  The  new  ideas,  indeed,  are  but  imperfectly 
carried  out;  not  a  few  aspects  of  the  movement  are  trivial  and 
pointless,  and  conflict  with  the  main  direction  of  effort.  Never- 
theless, the  revelation  and  acceptance  of  the  independence  of 
the  inner  nature  remain  in  full  force;  and  whatever  is  incom- 
plete and  unreconciled  sinks  into  insignificance  before  the  truth 
and  earnestness  of  Socrates's  life-work,  and  particularly  before 
the  heroic  death  which  put  the  seal  upon  that  work.  Thus  a 
firmer  foundation  was  laid,  and  a  new  path  opened  upon  which, 
at  the  hands  of  Plato,  the  Greek  view  of  life  swiftlv  reached  its 
philosophical  zenith. 

II.    PLATO 

(a)  Introductory 

To  describe  Plato's  view  of  life  is,  indeed,  the  most  difficult 
task  of  our  whole  undertaking.  The  principal  reason  for  this 
is  that  the  great  personality,  of  which  his  works  are  the  expres- 
sion, includes  fundamentally  different,  indeed  conflicting,  tenden- 
cies. Plato  is  above  all  the  kingly  thinker,  penetrating  beyond 
all  appearance,  and  rising  triumphantly  above  all  figurative 
thought  and  speech  to  the  invisible  essence  of  things:  with  a 
transcendent  power  he  sets  worlds  over  against  worlds,  moves 
inert  masses  as  with  the  lightest  touch,  and  makes  fluid  the  most 
stubborn  of  contradictions.  But  the  great  thinker  is  also  by 
divine  prerogative  an  artist,  who  is  everywhere  impelled  to  crea- 
tive vision,  who  sketches  powerful  images  with  a  convincing 
vividness,  and  whose  versatile  fantasy  moulds  all  the  work  of 
thought  into  a  thing  of  splendour.  So  powerful  is  the  action  of 
this  fantasy,  even  in  the  inner  structure  of  his  work,  that  didactic 
statement  and  poetic  myth  often  merge  imperceptibly  into  one 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       17 

another.  But  Plato's  thought  and  poetry  are  the  outpouring  of 
a  great  moral  personality,  which  is  itself  the  supreme  touch- 
stone; and  only  that  is  accounted  good  and  valuable  which 
elevates  the  whole  of  the  soul,  and  serves  to  strengthen,  purify, 
and  ennoble  life.  "All  the  gold  above  and  beneath  the  earth 
does  not  outweigh  virtue."  Here  a  lofty  mind  banishes  all  that 
is  impure  and  common;  and  the  consciousness  of  the  invisible 
bonds  and  the  heavy  responsibilities  of  human  conduct  lends 
to  all  effort  a  profound  seriousness,  indeed  an  unspeakable 
solemnity.  Moreover,  both  the  sentiment  and  the  diction  of 
Plato  betray  the  influence  of  the  new  tendencies  of  the  age  toward 
an  increasing  inwardness  in  religion. 

That  such  different  forces  meet  and  mutually  accentuate 
each  other  in  the  life-work  of  Plato  gives  to  it  its  unique  greatness. 
But  the  same  fact  also  gives  rise  to  inconsistencies  which  are 
never  completely  reconciled.  Each  trait  unfolds  itself  far  too 
independently  not  to  come  into  frequent  conflict  with  the 
others;  there  are  numerous  interferences  and  cross-currents; 
the  result  is  that  the  whole  is  developed,  now  more  in  this  direc- 
tion, now  more  in  that. 

In  view  of  such  a  variety  of  conflicting  tendencies,  the  ob- 
scurity which  still  veils  both  the  chronological  order  of  Plato's 
writings  and  the  inner  history  of  the  man  himself  is  particularly 
tormenting.  Certain  principal  phases,  indeed,  stand  out  dis- 
tinctly enough;  but  where  the  single  divisions  and  transitions 
lie,  what  the  chief  motive  of  each  of  the  different  periods  was, 
and  what  formed  for  the  thinker  himself  the  final  conclusion  of 
his  long  life's  work — these  points,  notwithstanding  the  exhaus- 
tive researches  of  experts,  are  still  so  far  from  being  decisively 
cleared  up  that  it  is  even  now  impossible  to  do  without  the  aid  of 
bold  conjectures.  Such,  however,  must  be  avoided  in  this 
sketch,  which  accordingly  will  concern  itself  chiefly  with  the 
works  in  which  Plato  appears  as  the  forerunner  of  Idealism. 
For  in  the  Doctrine  of  Ideas  Plato  attains  his  greatest  inde- 
pendence, while  by  it  he  has  exerted  his  profoundest  influence 
upon  mankind. 


i8  HELLENISM 


(b)  The  Doctrine  of  Ideas 

Plato's  aims  originate  in  a  deep  discontent,  indeed  in  a  com- 
plete rupture,  with  his  social  environment.  Directly  it  is  the 
Athenian  democracy  that  excites  his  wrath,  the  behaviour, 
namely,  of  "the  many,"  who  without  sincerity  or  insight,  and 
impelled  by  vacillating  desires  and  by  caprice,  pass  judgment 
upon  the  weightiest  matters,  and  by  the  influence  of  their  noisy 
clamour  divert  those  in  pursuit  of  culture  from  their  true  aims. 
But,  for  the  philosophical  mind  of  Plato,  the  need  of  his  own 
time  and  country  expands  into  a  problem  of  all  lands  and  all 
ages.  Every  human  undertaking  which  seeks  to  be  self-suffi- 
cient, and  to  avoid  all  responsibility  to  superior  authority,  he 
looks  upon  as  petty  and  necessarily  inadequate.  Dominated 
by  a  hollow  show  of  independence,  such  efforts  can  never  pro- 
duce more  than  the  appearance  of  virtue  and  happiness,  which 
is  rendered  repulsive  by  its  self-complacency.  So  the  thinker 
turns  his  gaze  away  from  men  to  the  great  All :  from  the  affairs 
of  everyday  life,  with  its  envy  and  hatred,  he  bids  us  look  up  to 
the  ever-just  order  of  the  universe,  which  is  constantly  pre- 
figured to  our  imagination  in  the  serene  expanse  of  the  firmament. 
This  relation  with  the  universal  order  makes  our  life  wider  and 
truer,  purer  and  more  constant.  Hence  Plato  seeks  to  rise  above 
humanity,  and  to  turn  from  a  social  to  a  cosmic  regulation  of  life. 

But  the  new  life  encounters  at  once  an  apparently  insuperable 
difficulty.  The  sensible  world  was  seen  to  be  shattered  and  dis- 
integrated by  the  work  of  science;  especially  was  the  mutability 
of  its  forms,  the  ceaseless  flux  of  all  things,  far  too  distinctly 
recognised  for  life  and  aspiration  to  be  safely  based  upon  it. 
Hence,  if  the  realm  of  the  senses  be  the  only  world,  all  hope  of 
finding  a  secure  foundation  for  life  by  starting  from  the  great  All 
disappears.  But  can  there  not  exist,  beside  it,  above  it,  still 
another  world?  Socrates's  doctrine  of  thinking  and  of  the 
nature  of  concepts  had,  in  fact,  opened  an  outlook  toward  such 
a  higher  sphere.  In  concepts,  as  opposed  to  fluctuating  opinions, 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       19 

was  recognised  something  fixed  and  universally  valid.  For 
Socrates,  indeed,  this  universality  appeared  to  be  confined  to 
the  domain  of  human  thought.  But  Plato,  whose  whole  nature 
turned  more  toward  the  cosmic  order,  was  led  to  take  an  important 
step  forward.  The  concept,  he  contends,  could  not  be  true, 
unless  it  extended  beyond  human  thought,  and  corresponded 
to  a  reality  in  things.  This  view  is  in  harmony  with  the 
general  attitude  of  the  Greek  mind,  which  does  not  sever  man 
from  the  world  and  set  him  over  against  it,  but  unites  him 
closely  to  it,  interpreting  whatever  is  found  existing  in  human 
thought  as  a  manifestation  of  things.  The  lesser  life  here 
follows  the  greater,  since,  according  to  Plato,  the  fire  of  the  All 
does  not  kindle  and  nourish  itself  from  our  fire;  rather,  mine  and 
thine  and  that  of  all  living  beings  derive  all  that  they  have  from 
the  former.  If,  however,  there  is  such  a  close  relation  between  us 
and  things,  and  the  soul  derives  its  possessions  only  through  its 
community  of  nature  with  the  All,  then  it  is  a  sure  inference 
from  the  content  of  the  lesser  world  to  that  of  the  greater.  Now 
in  Plato's  mind  it  is  incontestable  that,  distinguished  from 
shifting  and  uncertain  opinions,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  knowl- 
edge by  permanent  concepts:  hence  he  concludes  that  there 
certainly  exists  in  the  All  an  invisible,  immutable  world,  a  realm 
of  thought-entities  beyond  the  fleeting  world  of  sense. 

In  this  manner,  Plato  comes  to  the  core  of  his  philosophical 
convictions,  to  the  Doctrine  of  Ideas.  The  word  Idea,  origi- 
nally meaning  appearance,  image,  shape,  and  employed  even  in 
philosophy  before  Plato,  received  and  retained  from  this  time 
forth  a  technical  sense;  it  now  denotes  in  the  world  of  things 
the  counterpart  of  concept,  an  immutable  essence  or  being,  ac- 
cessible only  to  thought.  The  Doctrine  of  Ideas  gives  stability 
and  objectivity  to  our  concepts :  a  bold  logical  fantasy  here  trans- 
fers the  latter  to  the  universe  without,  hypostatising  them  into 
independent  essences  standing  over  against  us.  The  world  of 
thought  which  thus  originates  becomes  for  Plato  the  core  of 
all  reality,  the  bearer  of  the  world  of  sense. 

That  is  a  revolution  and  a  revaluation  of  the  most  radical 


20  HELLENISM 

description :  the  intellectual  history  of  man  knows  none  greater. 
The  world  of  the  senses,  hitherto  the  dwelling-place  of  the  mind, 
retreats  to  a  distance,  and  a  world  accessible  only  to  thought 
becomes  the  first,  the  most  certain,  the  immediately  present 
world.  The  nearness  and  the  knowableness  of  things  are  now 
measured  by  their  transparency  for  thought,  not  by  the  strength 
of  the  sense  impression.  Since  the  sensible  world,  with  its 
extension  in  space,  offers  an  obstinate  resistance  to  being  re- 
solved into  pure  concepts,  it  remains,  with  all  its  tangibility,  in 
obscure  twilight,  while  the  Ideas  enjoy  the  full  light  of  day. 
With  such  a  transformation,  the  soul  constitutes  our  essential 
being,  the  body  becomes  something  extraneous,  even  foreign. 
Likewise,  only  spiritual  goods  should  now  call  forth  our  efforts. 

But  this  spirituality  acquires  a  peculiar  character  owing  to 
the  unqualified  dominion  of  knowledge.  Knowledge  alone,  that 
eye  of  the  mind  which  beholds  the  invisible  world,  guides  us 
away  from  the  illusion  of  the  senses  to  the  realm  of  reality. 
On  its  development  hangs  the  independence  and  inwardness  of 
our  lives;  indeed,  in  striptness,  it  must  form  life's  sole  content. 

The  result  is  a  complete  change,  but  also  one  which  is  in 
danger  of  an  extremely  one-sided  development.  Were  life 
turned  wholly  into  the  spiritual  channel,  the  varied  fulness  of 
actual  existence  would  be  sacrificed  to  the  desire  for  a  com- 
pletely immaterial  and  immutable  being.  Plato,  however,  adds 
the  complement  of  an  artistic  tendency,  as  being  no  less  essen- 
tial to  a  stable  and  worthy  existence;  thus  a  desire  for  beauty 
is  joined  to  the  desire  for  knowledge,  and  the  Doctrine  of  Ideas  is 
completed  only  by  the  union  of  the  two.  The  insensible  essence 
of  things  appears  also  as  pure  form,  the  form  which,  by  its 
superior  power,  binds  together  the  manifold  phenomena,  and, 
as  contrasted  with  the  ephemeral  existence  of  individual  things, 
endures  as  with  an  eternal  youth,  and  ever  afresh  exerts  its  forma- 
tive power  over  the  sensible  world.  Such  a  Form  Plato  finds 
active  throughout  nature,  as  well  as  in  the  inner  life  of  the  soul 
and  in  the  upbuilding  of  human  society;  hence  we  may  say 
that  the  world-wide  phenomenon  of  Form  is  here  for  the  first 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       21 

time  grasped  by  thought,  and  also  that  there  is  now  won  a  new 
valuation  of  the  world  of  things.  Form  is  not  only  constant,  it 
is  also  beautiful  and  attractive.  Accordingly,  true  being  reveals 
itself  also  as  the  Good  and  the  Ideal,  the  world  of  essence  also 
as  that  of  worth.  Thus,  immediate  existence  takes  on  a  far 
more  congenial  aspect.  It  becomes  indeed  a  copy  of  the  per- 
fect prototype,  directing  man's  thoughts  steadily  toward  the 
latter,  and  producing  an  unceasing  aspiration. 

This  union  of  truth  and  beauty  implies  a  firm  conviction  of 
the  universal  power  of  reason.  Where  the  essence  of  things  is 
also  beautiful  and  good,  where  things  are  viewed  as  better  in  the 
proportion  that  they  partake  of  being,  there  the  Good  has  a 
sure  preponderance,  there  it  enjoys  a  sovereign  rule  over  the 
world.  No  place  remains  for  radical  evil,  for  a  paralysing 
original  sin :  evil  tendencies,  indeed,  may  degrade  and  pervert, 
but  they  cannot  corrupt  and  ruin.  So  directed,  the  eager  de- 
sire for  life  is  ennobled  and  justified,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the 
dangers  and  conflicts,  a  happy  mood  results. 

However  much  that  is  problematic  may  remain  in  Plato's 
Doctrine  of  Ideas,  the  latter  discloses  a  great  truth  which  we 
cannot  relinquish.  And  that  is  the  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
there  Is  a  realm  of  truth  beyond  the  likes  and  dislikes  of  men; 
that  truths  are  valid,  not  because  of  our  consent,  but  inde- 
pendently of  it,  and  in  a  sphere  raised  above  all  human  opinion 
and  power.  Such  a  conviction  is  the  foundation  of  the  inde- 
pendence of  science,  and  of  the  secure  upbuilding  of  civilisa- 
tion; only  a  self-dependent  truth  can  provide  laws  and  norms, 
which  elevate  human  existence  because  they  unite  it.  But  this 
is  the  central  thought  of  all  idealism;  hence  the  latter  ever 
remains  linked  with  the  name  of  Plato. 

(c)  Life's  Goods 

The  Platonic  view  of  the  conduct  of  life  follows  directly  from 
the  Doctrine  of  Ideas.  Its  characteristics  may  be  summarised 
in  a  few  words.  All  intellectual  life  rests  upon  trained  insight; 


22  HELLENISM 

without  this,  it  speedily  falls  a  victim  to  error.  But  in  its  actual 
working  out,  life  tends  to  shape  itself  according  to  the  artistic 
principles  of  symmetry  and  harmony.  Thus,  the  two  chief 
tendencies  in  Greek  civilisation,  the  insistence  upon  definiteness 
of  knowledge  and  upon  comeliness  of  form,  here  unite  with  and 
interpenetrate  each  other  to  their  mutual  furtherance.  Accord- 
ingly, Plato  represents  the  highest  point  reached  in  the  intel- 
lectual labours  of  his  people.  At  the  same  time,  in  his  creative 
work  he  pours  forth  the  whole  greatness  of  his  mind,  the  force 
of  a  pure  and  noble  and  sovereign  personality,  and  so  contributes 
something  new  and  individual  to  the  national  development:  in 
all  the  search  for  truth  and  beauty,  his  mighty  soul  is  really 
seeking  for  the  good,  the  ennobling,  whatever  elevates  the 
whole  nature. 

Knowledge  is  the  undisputed  guide  of  life.  Nothing  can  be 
accepted  as  valid  which  has  not  passed  through  the  crucible  of 
thought.  Intelligent  insight  alone  renders  virtue  genuine,  since 
it  alone  penetrates  beyond  appearances  and  emancipates  us 
from  the  hollow  conformity  of  conventional  morality;  it  alone 
establishes  virtue  in  the  individual  nature  of  the  man,  and 
makes  his  acts  really  free.  For  that  which  is  generally  called 
virtue,  but  which  in  truth  is  not  very  different  from  physical 
accomplishments,  is  more  a  product  of  social  environment, 
more  a  result  of  custom  and  habit,  than  one's  own  act  and 
decision.  It  is  right  insight  which  first  makes  possible  the 
independence  of  conduct  and  of  the  inner  nature. 

The  beautiful  likewise  must  be  baptised  in  the  element  of 
thought,  in  order  that  it  may  be  purged  of  the  common  view 
which  is  intent  on  low  pleasure.  For  it  is  thought  that  removes 
from  the  beautiful  all  that  serves  merely  for  sensuous  charm  and 
gratification;  and  it  is  only  when  freed  from  what  is  carnal,  only 
when  it  rises  to  pure  spirituality,  that  beauty  perfects  its  nature. 
It  is  here  that  Winckelmann's  words:  "like  a  spirit  drawn 
forth  from  matter  through  fire,"  find  application.  Thus  the 
Greek  striving  for  beauty  finds  expression  also  in  philosophy 
and  becomes  a  power  even  in  the  world  of  scientific  thought. 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       23 

Just  as  beauty  is  inseparably  bound  up  with  the  search  for 
truth,  so  it  is  with  the  Good.  In  Plato,  philosophy  is  no  mere 
theory,  in  the  later  sense  of  the  word,  but  a  rehabilitation  of  the 
whole  being,  an  elevation  of  the  entire  man  from  appearance  to 
truth,  an  awakening  out  of  the  deep  sleep  that  holds  ordinary 
life  captive,  a  purification  from  all  sensuousness  and  its  lower 
impulses.  The  striving  toward  the  world  of  essential  being 
springs  from  the  innermost  will  of  the  whole  man;  it  is  an 
impulse  of  veracity,  which  means  breaking  with  appearance  and 
seeking  the  reality.  Truth  and  goodness  meet  also  in  another 
respect,  inasmuch  as  immutable  being  here  counts  as  the  highest 
good,  yet  such  being  is  revealed  only  through  the  search  for 
truth.  Finally,  according  to  Plato,  the  Idea  of  the  Good,  the 
highest  of  all  Ideas,  affords  guidance  in  the  search  for  truth,  in 
so  far  as  it  teaches  us  to  interpret  all  that  happens  in  accordance 
with  ends,  and  thus  becomes  the  key  to  the  whole  of  reality. 

Still  closer  is  the  bond  between  the  Good  and  the  Beautiful, 
it  is  operative  in  all  the  departments  of  life  with  a  force  that 
surmounts  all  obstacles.  Plato's  treatment  of  the  beautiful 
shows  him  to  be  in  close  touch  with  his  people,  since  he  gives 
a  philosophical  version  of  that  classic  beauty  which  had  just 
then  attained  its  zenith.  The  beautiful  is  here  principally  of 
the  plastic  sort;  it  requires  a  distinct  separation  of  the  manifold 
elements,  strength  in  the  moulding  of  each,  and  concentration 
toward  a  powerful  unity  of  effect.  Hence  typical  classical 
beauty  is  a  beauty  of  fixed  relations  and  clear  proportions,  of 
definite  and  vivid  form,  and  yet  one  which  is  full  of  inner  life. 

Beauty  of  this  description  the  penetrating  glance  of  the  thinker 
discerns  beneath  the  sombre  appearance  of  things,  both  in  the 
great  world  and  in  the  sphere  of  human  activity;  limits  and 
order,  symmetry  and  harmony,  are  everywhere  revealed  to  him. 
So,  from  out  the  deep  vault  of  the  heavens,  the  fixed  constancy 
of  the  stars,  notwithstanding  their  ceaseless  movements;  so  from 
out  the  inner  mechanism  of  nature,  the  formation  of  everything 
in  accordance  with  strict  mathematical  relations. 

But  what  thus  goes  on  in  the  great  world  with  far-reaching  and 


24  HELLENISM 

certain  effect  becomes  in  human  life  a  problem  to  be  wrought 
out  by  action :  the  most  important  of  all  harmonies  is  the  harmony 
of  life,  of  which  the  Hellenic  nature  alone  seems  to  be  capable. 
Our  being,  indeed,  with  its  multitude  of  impulses,  is  necessarily 
forced  into  metes  and  bounds.  But  the  full  realisation  of  sym- 
metry in  the  details  of  life  requires  our  personal  initiative,  under 
the  guidance  of  right  insight.  The  problem  is,  with  the  help  of 
such  insight,  to  dispel  the  original  confusion,  to  develop  all 
our  native  endowments,  to  prevent  them  from  encroaching  upon 
one  another,  and  finally  to  unite  all  attainments  into  a  well- 
balanced  life-work.  Here  everything  limitless  and  indefinite  is 
excluded,  all  movement  has  a  fixed  goal,  even  efficiency  may  not 
be  arbitrarily  increased.  When  each  performs  his  individual 
task,  the  whole  fares  the  best,  life  becomes  beautiful  in  itself  and 
can  produce  nothing  but  happiness.  Such  a  conviction  implies 
its  own  ideal  of  education.  A  man  should  not  train  himself  for 
everything,  and  undertake  everything.  Rather  let  each  choose 
some  single  aim,  and  dedicate  to  that  his  whole  strength.  It  is 
far  better  to  do  one  thing  well  than  many  things  indifferently. 
In  other  words,  it  is  an  aristocratic  ideal  in  harsh  and  conscious 
opposition  to  the  democratic  one  of  an  education  of  all  for  every- 
thing, that  is,  a  training  as  many-sided  and  uniform  for  every- 
body as  possible. 

Inasmuch  as  the  harmony  of  life  thus  virtually  becomes  our 
own  creation,  by  incorporating  in  it  our  volition,  our  disposition, 
it  develops  into  an  ethical  product,  into  the  virtue  of  justice. 
For  justice  consists  precisely  in  this,  to  perform  one's  own  task 
and  to  render  to  every  one  his  due;  instead  of  encroaching  upon 
another's  sphere,  to  devote  one's  self  wholly  to  the  work  which 
nature  and  fortune  have  assigned  to  one.  Accordingly,  justice 
is  nothing  other  than  the  harmony  of  life  incorporated  into  one's 
own  volition.  As  such,  it  becomes  for  Plato,  in  common  with 
the  Greek  people,  the  central  conception  of  the  moral  life,  the  all- 
inclusive  virtue.  Beyond  the  human  sphere,  moreover,  it  is 
active  as  the  moral  order  of  the  universe.  In  the  end,  we  fare 
according  to  our  conduct;  if  not  in  this  life,  then  certainly  in 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       25 

another,  the  good  done  must  receive  its  reward,  and  the  evil  its 
punishment. 

If,  accordingly,  virtue  consists  in  the  vitalising  and  harmo- 
nious ordering  of  one's  own  being,  it  becomes  wholly  self- 
dependent;  and  the  effort  to  attain  virtue  becomes  a  ceaseless 
occupation  of  the  man  with  his  own  inner  life,  and  consequently 
a  liberation  from  all  the  oppression  of  social  surroundings. 
The  prescriptions  of  custom  had  a  peculiar  power  over  the 
southern  nations;  but  since  the  time  of  Plato  there  is  to  be 
found  even  there  in  all  sovereign  personalties  the  most  strenuous 
resistance  to  its  pressure.  With  the  spiritualising  of  the  aim, 
the  chief  end  became,  not  gratifying  the  expectations  of  other 
men,  but  meeting  the  demands  of  one's  own  ideals;  not  the 
appearing,  but  the  being,  good.  Just  as  this  turning  to  the  inner 
nature  first  made  life  independent  and  honest,  so  it  promised  an 
incomparably  more  exalted  happiness,  a  purer  joy.  The  forceful 
and  virile  nature  of  Plato  is  not  the  one  to  renounce  happiness; 
yet  Plato  does  not  find  it,  as  do  the  masses,  in  outward  events 
and  successes.  Rather,  seeking  it  m  activity  itself  enables  him  to 
undertake  a  great  life-work  in  developing  the  inner  nature. 
What  is  required  is  first  to  fill  the  entire  circuit  of  life's  activities 
with  eager  aspiration,  and  then  to  unite  all  into  a  harmony. 
On  the  result  depends  the  success  or  failure  of  life,  and  also  our 
happiness  or  unhappiness.  For,  according  to  Plato,  whatever 
harmony  or  discord  there  is  in  life  will  be  clearly  perceived  and 
actually  felt,  will  be  felt  just  as  it  exists,  without  illusion.  Hence 
the  actual  state  of  the  soul  is  truthfully  reflected  in  joy  or  sorrow; 
justice  with  its  harmony  yields  blessedness,  a  form  of  happiness 
exalted  far  above  all  other  kinds;  viciousness,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  its  discord,  its  disruption  and  hostility  toward  our  real 
nature,  produces  unbearable  suffering. 

This  inseparable  connection  between  active  virtue  and  happi- 
ness forms  the  highest  development  of  the  wisdom  of  an  active 
and  happy  race:  such  is  the  ideal  for  which  Greek  philosophy 
fought  to  the  last.  According  to  this  conviction,  happiness 
forms  the  natural  consequence,  but  not  the  motive  of  action; 


26  HELLENISM 

where  the  good  has  its  worth  in  itself,  in  its  own  inner  beauty, 
the  perception  of  which  always  delights  and  fascinates,  there  all 
petty  concern  about  rewards  vanishes.  To  give  happiness  this 
inner  foundation  means  to  break  the  power  of  destiny  over  men. 
All  the  privations  and  antagonisms  of  outward  circumstances 
cannot  alter  the  condition  of  soul  created  by  the  soul's  own  act; 
its  superiority  and  self-sufficiency  are  only  strengthened  and 
made  more  obvious  by  the  contrast.  Possessed  of  all  the  favour 
of  fortune,  the  bad  man  remains  miserable;  indeed,  prosperity 
renders  him  only  the  more  wretched,  since  evil  flourishes  more 
rankly  in  a  rich  soil:  but  to  the  good  man,  the  inner  splendour 
of  his  life  is  first  fully  revealed  in  the  presence  of  obstacles  and 
suffering.  Holding  such  convictions,  Plato  draws  an  impressive 
picture  of  the  suffering  just  man,  who  is  pursued  until  his  death  by 
the  apparent  injustice  that  afflicts  him,  but  whose  inner  nobility 
shines  with  transcendent  lustre  in  the  midst  of  trial — a  picture 
which  in  its  outward  approach  to  Christian  ideas  only  renders 
more  obvious  the  inner  divergence  between  the  two  worlds. 

(d)  Asceticism  and  the  Transfiguration  of  the  World 

Absolutely  essential  to  the  Platonic  view  was  the  separation 
between  the  realm  of  truth,  as  that  of  pure  forms,  and  the  realm 
of  immediate  existence.  Between  these  there  is  an  impassable 
gulf;  historical  research  has  failed  to  lessen  the  separation. 
The  more  energetically  Plato  insists  that  spiritual  goods  have 
their  worth  within  themselves,  and  that  that  worth  is  incompar- 
able, the  more  certain  he  becomes  that  they  constitute  a  realm 
of  their  own  opposed  to  a  world  of  lesser  truth  and  completeness. 
What  consequences  for  human  conduct  has  such  a  rigorous 
separation  of  the  ideal  from  the  actual  ?  Can  conduct  embrace 
both,  or  should  it  be  directed  exclusively  toward  the  ideal? 
The  latter  course  is  unconditionally  enjoined  by  Plato.  For 
why  should  we  divide  our  energies,  when  the  world  of  real  being 
demands  our  unreserved  devotion  ?  why  concern  ourselves  with 
the  transitory,  when  the  way  to  the  eternal  stands  open  ?  why 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       27 

linger  in  obscure  twilight  amid  shadowy  reflections,  when  we 
may  gaze  upon  the  full  pure  light  of  the  archetypes  ?  Plato  is 
impelled  in  this  direction  by  his  eager  longing  for  essential  being : 
measured  by  the  constancy  and  simplicity  of  reality,  the  sense- 
world,  with  its  myriad  shifting  forms,  sinks  into  a  deceptive 
appearance.  Hence  it  becomes  the  problem  of  problems  to  free 
oneself  wholly  from  this  illusion,  and  to  dedicate  all  love,  all 
strength,  and  all  effort  to  immutable  being.  In  this  manner 
Plato  develops  a  type  of  asceticism  which  is  individual  and 
distinctive. 

Viewed  from  this  elevation,  the  worthlessness  and  falsity  of 
the  life  that  immediately  surrounds  us  is  obvious.  It  is  not  so 
much  that  it  is  defective  in  detail,  as  that  it  fails  as  a  whole,  and 
particularly  as  to  its  basis.  Here  where  sensuousness  draws 
everything  down  to  its  own  level,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  pure 
happiness;  everything  noble  is  distorted  and  perverted,  all 
effort  is  directed  to  the  appearance  and  not  to  the  thing  itself, 
while  the  ceaseless  change  of  phenomena  yields  at  no  point  a 
lasting  good.  Into  the  dark  cave  of  sensuousness,  to  which  we 
are  here  banished,  the  great  and  luminous  world  of  truth  throws 
but  faint  and  fleeting  images.  If  thought  opens  to  us  a  way  of 
escape  from  such  bondage,  ought  we  not  joyfully  to  enter  upon  it  ? 
ought  we  not  courageously  to  cast  off  every  tie  that  binds  us  to 
the  realm  of  shadows  ?  But  everything  that  is  there  prized  as  a 
good  holds  us  fast — beauty,  riches,  strength  of  body,  distin- 
guished connections;  hence  the  real  friend  of  truth  must  inwardly 
renounce  even  these.  To  the  soul  the  body  is  a  prison,  indeed 
a  grave.  It  can  rescue  itself  only  by  putting  away  all  pleasure 
and  desire,  pain  and  fear.  For  these  passions  weld  it  to  the 
body,  and  cause  it  to  mistake  the  world  of  sense-appearance 
for  the  true  wrorld.  Yet  the  soul  cannot  free  itself  from  the  pas- 
sions, so  long  as  the  events  of  everyday  life  possess  the  slightest 
value  for  it,  for  then  they  rule  it;  consequently  it  must  rise  to 
complete  indifference  to  them,  and  find  happiness  exclusively  in 
intellectual  activity,  i.  e.,  in  the  knowledge  of  true  being.  The 
blows  of  fortune  glance  from  a  wise  and  brave  soul  that  partici- 


a8  HELLENISM 

pates  in  immutable  goods.  "It  is  best  to  remain  composed  and 
not  to  be  excited  in  the  presence  of  misfortunes,  inasmuch  as 
neither  in  such  matters  are  good  and  evil  easily  discerned,  nor 
does  he  who  takes  disaster  hard  gain  anything  thereby,  nor  in 
general  does  anything  in  human  affairs  merit  great  eagerness." 
And  we  ought  not  to  grieve  like  women  over  the  calamities  of 
others,  but  manfully  to  help  the  sick  and  set  the  fallen  upon 
his  feet.  Only  he  attains  a  complete  victory  who  leaves  the 
whole  life  of  sensation  behind  him,  and  lifts  himself  heroically 
above  the  world  of  joys  and  sorrows.  With  such  a  release  of 
life  from  the  thraldom  of  sensuous  existence,  death  loses  all  its 
terrors;  it  becomes  an  "escape  from  all  error  and  unreason  and 
fear  and  wild  passion  and  all  other  human  ills."  To  the  disem- 
bodied soul  alone  is  the  full  truth  revealed,  for  only  what  is  pure 
may  come  into  contact  with  the  pure.  Thus  the  escape  from  the 
earthly,  the  preparation  for  death,  becomes  the  chief  problem  of 
philosophy;  it  now  means  the  awaking  out  of  dazed  dreaming 
into  perfect  clearness,  a  return  from  a  strange  land  to  one's  home. 

Here  we  have  asceticism  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word.  There 
remains,  indeed,  a  wide  divergence  between  the  Platonic  and  the 
mediaeval  asceticism.  It  is  only  the  sensuous  and  merely  human 
existence,  not  the  world  in  general,  that  is  surrendered ;  and  the 
eternal  being  that  is  the  object  of  striving  is  not  located  in  the 
distant  Beyond  as  an  object  of  faith  and  hope,  but  it  surrounds 
the  soul  of  kindred  nature  even  in  this  life  with  an  immediate 
presence;  also  it  does  not  appear  as  the  gracious  gift  of  a  higher 
power,  but  as  a  result  of  one's  own  activity,  as  a  product  of  human 
freedom. 

But  even  with  such  an  interpretation,  the  break  with  the  whole 
immediate  condition  of  mankind  remains.  For  with  the  rejec- 
tion of  all  the  pains  and  joys,  all  the  cares  and  problems  of  hu- 
manity, existence  threatens  to  lose  all  living  content,  the  infinite 
wealth  of  being  to  sink  into  the  abyss  of  a  formless  eternity. 

In  such  asceticism  as  this,  we  have  the  true  Plato  and  the  con- 
sistent Plato,  but  by  no  means  the  whole  Plato.  For  the  ascetic 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD        29 

tendency  in  Plato  underwent  a  considerable  modification,  in 
fact  it  suffered  a  complete  reaction,  as  has  happened  indeed  with 
all  exponents  of  asceticism  who,  in  their  concern  for  the  individ- 
ual, did  not  forget  the  claims  of  humanity  in  general.  The 
individual  thinker,  it  is  true,  may  cut  himself  off  from  the  sen- 
suous world,  but  mankind  as  a  whole  cannot  follow  him :  thus 
regard  for  the  weaker  brethren  would  have  sufficed  of  itself  to 
lead  Plato  back  to  the  sensuous  world.  Hence  a  concession 
which,  in  the  Orient,  and  often  even  on  Christian  soil,  was 
only  a  reluctant  one,  found  Plato  predisposed  in  its  favour.  As 
a  Greek,  and  as  the  friend,  indeed  the  discoverer,  of  beauty,  so 
far  as  theoretical  knowledge  is  concerned,  he  is  bound  by  a 
thousand  ties  to  the  actual  world;  and  that  fact  compels  him  to 
search  out  the  good  in  the  sensuous  also,  and  to  rejoice  in  it. 

In  particular,  an  effort  peculiar  to  Plato,  to  insert  an  interme- 
diate link  between  the  spiritual  and  the  sensuous,  between  reality 
and  appearance,  between  the  eternal  and  the  transitory,  oper- 
ates to  exalt  the  sensuous  world,  and  so  to  preserve  life  from  dis- 
ruption. That  is,  the  soul  appears  as  a  mediation  between  the 
spirit  and  the  sensuous  nature,  in  that  it  receives  the  eternal 
truths  from  the  former,  but  lives  its  life  in  the  latter;  within  the 
soul  itself,  strenuous  effort  mediates  between  the  intellectual 
faculties  and  the  senses,  and,  in  cognition,  correct  opinion  medi- 
ates between  knowledge  and  ignorance.  Similarly,  in  the  theo- 
ries of  the  state  and  of  nature,  opposites  are  connected  by  inter- 
mediate links,  and  all  the  phenomena  arranged  in  a  graded 
series.  Finally,  the  beautiful  becomes  a  connecting  link  be- 
tween pure  spirit  and  the  sensuous  world,  inasmuch  as  order, 
proportion,  and  harmony  dominate  both  worlds,  and  give  also 
to  the  latter  a>share  in  divinity. 

With  Plato,  however,  the  union  of  higher  and  lower  results 
not  only  from  an  impartation  from  above,  but  also  from  the 
direct  aspiration  of  the  sensuous  and  human  toward  the  divine. 
Throughout  the  whole  finite  world  there  stirs  the  longing  for 
some  share  in  the  good  and  the  eternal,  in  order  that  the  finite 
itself  may  become  imperishable.  Love,  or  Eros,  is  nought  but 


30  HELLENISM 

such  a  striving  for  immortality.  This  longing  attains  full  devel- 
opment only  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  which  leads  to  a  per- 
fect union  with  the  true  and  the  eternal.  Yet  it  pervades  the 
whole  universe  in  an  ascending  progress,  and  the  contemplation 
of  the  thinker  joyfully  traces  this  mounting  stairway  of  love. 

Such  a  transformation  increases  the  significance  of  the  imme- 
diate world  and  augments  the  wealth  of  human  life.  Knowledge 
no  longer  forms  its  exclusive  content,  but  only  the  dominating 
height  which  sheds  forth  light  and  reason  in  all  directions.  But 
the  lower  sphere  acquires  worth  as  being  an  indispensable  step 
toward  that  height;  for  our  eyes  can  accustom  themselves  but 
gradually  to  the  light  of  the  Ideas.  Moreover,  the  Idea  of  jus- 
tice and  harmony  uplifts  the  lower  sphere  by  making  it  a  part  of 
the  whole,  and  by  setting  it  a  special  task  whose  accomplishment 
becomes  essential  to  the  completion  of  the  whole  work,  both  in 
the  human  soul  and  in  the  state.  That  sphere  becomes  evil  only 
when  the  order  is  reversed,  and  the  higher  supplanted;  hence, 
even  the  sensuous  is  no  longer  as  such  to  be  condemned,  but  only 
in  its  excess  and  when  it  subjugates  the  mind. 

To  this  there  corresponds  a  different  personal  attitude  toward 
human  things;  the  thinker  cannot  now  look  coldly  down  upon 
them  from  a  distant  height.  Rather  he  shares  feelingly  in  the 
common  lot :  all  good  becomes  his  joy,  all  evil  his  pain.  Hence 
he  is  impelled  with  a  mighty  force  toward  the  furtherance  of  the 
good  and  the  combating  of  evil.  The  ascetic  thinker  becomes  a 
bold  and  passionate  reformer;  he  devises  vast  plans  for  the 
radical  amelioration  of  human  conditions,  and  does  not  shrink 
from  abrupt  changes.  Instead  of  the  earlier  suppression  of  the 
emotions,  we  are  now  told  that  without  a  noble  anger  nothing 
excellent,  can  be  accomplished.  Plato  here  appears  as  an  ardent 
champion,  whom  the  battle  with  its  excitement  stirs  to  joyful 
enthusiasm,  only  the  more  since,  in  his  view,  the  Deity  ever 
leads  the  combat. 

Accordingly,  Platonism  embraces  at  once  asceticism  and  a 
transfiguration  of  the  world.  But  the  latter,  too,  is  a  consequence 
of  the  world  of  Ideas;  for  even  the  reason  in  the  immediate  world 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       31 

is  descended  from  the  Ideas.  So,  in  spite  of  the  cleavage,  life 
remains  directed  toward  one  chief  goal :  in  both  worlds,  all  good 
is  spiritual  in  nature,  all  reason  derived  from  right  insight. 
That,  however,  everything  has  not  been  reconciled,  that  in  the 
common  stream  there  remain  conflicting  currents,  is  indicated, 
not  to  mention  other  points,  by  the  discrepant  treatment  of  the 
emotions.  But  perhaps  the  blame  for  the  contradiction  should 
not  fall  upon  Plato  alone;  perhaps  there  reside  in  human  life 
in  general  impulses  toward  opposite  goals.  Can  we  attain  the 
independence  and  original  purity  of  intellectual  life  without 
breaking  away  from  experience?  Can  we  develop  and  perfect 
it  without  returning  to  experience?  However  that  may  be,  it 
has  not  been  those  thinkers  who  have  hastily  seized  upon  a  sim- 
ple unity  and  fortified  their  position  against  all  possible  contra- 
dictions who  have  exerted  the  profoundest  influence,  but  those 
who  have  allowed  the  different  tendencies  to  conflict  strongly 
with  one  another  and  to  expend  themselves  fully:  by  this  means 
they  have  started  a  self-accelerating  movement,  an  inner  forward 
impulse  of  life.  Who  would  deny  that  such  has  been  the  case 
with  Plato? 

(e)  The  View  of  Human  Life  as  a  Whole 

All  the  principal  aspects  of  Plato's  thought  coalesce  in  his 
comprehensive  view  of  human  existence.  The  chief  antithesis 
of  the  two  worlds  applies  also  to  man,  who  consists  of  body  and 
soul,  or  rather  appeals  to  do  so.  In  truth,  the  soul  alone  con- 
stitutes the  self,  to  which  the  body  is  only  externally  appended. 
The  soul  shares  in  the  world  of  eternal  being  and  pure  beauty, 
while  the  body  draws  us  down  to  the  sensuous  realm,  and  sub- 
jects us  to  its  vicissitudes.  So  conceived,  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  is  beyond  all  doubt.  If  the  essence  of  life  lies  beyond  all 
temporal  change  and  all  relation  to  surroundings,  and  immu- 
tability is  the  chief  characteristic  of  spiritual  existence,  then  must 
the  soul,  each  individual  soul,  belong  to  the  eternal  elements  of 
reality.  It  never  came  into  being,  and  cannot  pass  away.  Its 


32  HELLENISM 

connection  with  the  body  appears  as  a  mere  episode  in  its  life, 
indeed  as  the  result  of  guilt,  of  an  "intellectual  Fall"  (Rohde); 
and  the  serious  work  of  life  is  designed  to  free  it  from  the  con- 
sequences of  this  guilt,  and  finally  to  bring  it,  although  after 
manifold  transmigrations,  back  to  the  invisible  world. 

Plato's  powerful  development  of  these  convictions  has  ex- 
erted the  profoundest  influence  upon  mankind.  It  was  not  the 
average  intelligence  of  his  surroundings  that  provided  him  with 
a  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  For  the  old  idea  of  a 
shadowy  existence  of  souls  in  Hades — fundamentally  different 
from  that  of  a  true  immortality — still  held  sway  over  men's 
minds:  even  for  a  Socrates  immortality  was  a  moot  question. 
True,  ia  smaller  religious  circles,  belief  in  immortality  had 
taken  root,  but  rather  as  a  subjective  conviction  than  as  part  of 
a  comprehensive  system  of  thought.  Plato  was  the  first  to  make 
the  belief  the  central  point  in  a  view  of  the  world,  and  to  con- 
nect it  with  the  whole  of  human  striving. 

The  principal  direction  of  human  effort  is  also  herewith  deter- 
mined. For  all  thought  is  now  concentrated  upon  the  inner 
state  of  man,  upon  the  liberation  and  purifying  of  the  immortal 
soul.  Life  attains  in  fact  a  thoroughly  spiritual  character;  and 
the  pursuit  of  truth  demands  our  utmost  exertion  only  the  more 
because  the  material  world  encompasses  us  with  the  deceptive 
appearance  of  truth,  and  our  souls  are  as  if  covered  up  and 
buried,  and  our  faculty  of  knowledge  weakened  and  dimmed, 
by  the  sensuous.  So  a  complete  inversion  of  the  ordinary  view 
is  necessary:  in  an  abrupt  break  with  his  first  state,  let  man 
turn  his  spiritual  eye  and  even  his  whole  being  away  from  gloomy 
darkness  to  the  light  of  truth.  The  movement  of  life,  like  all 
training  and  education,  does  not  develop  from  mere  experience; 
nor  does  progress  arise  from  the  mere  contact  of  inner  and  outer; 
rather,  active  effort  is  a  recollection  of  the  true  nature  of  the 
mind,  a  return  to  the  real,  ever-present,  merely  obscured  nature. 
For  the  soul  must  have  brought  with  it  into  this  life  a  spiritual 
capital,  which  was  to  abide  as  an  imperishable  possession. 
Hence  the  well-known  doctrine  of  reminiscence  and  innate 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       33 

(better,  native)  Ideas,  which,  notwithstanding  all  that  is  prob- 
lematic in  its  nearer  definition,  is  unassailable  in  the  funda- 
mental conception  that  all  true  living  is  an  unfolding  of  one's 
own  being,  and  that  the  external  world  can  only  arouse,  but  not 
create,  mental  activity  and  particularly  knowledge.  The  at- 
tempt to  impart  genuine  insight  and  virtue  by  means  of  the  in- 
fluence of  custom  and  practice  Plato  likens  to  the  effort  to  con- 
fer sight  upon  the  blind  externally.  All  knowledge  in  the  end  is 
drawn,  not  from  experience,  but  from  the  eternal  nature  of  the 
mind.  "Individual  things  are  specimens  which  remind  us  of 
the  abstract  concepts,  but  they  are  not  the  reality  to  which  those 
concepts  refer."  (Zeller.) 

Intimately  connected  with  this  view  of  life's  problem  are  cer- 
tain convictions  regarding  the  actual  conduct  of  life.  Individ- 
uals there  are,  in  Plato's  belief,  who  really  devote  themselves  to 
true  being;  genuine  virtue — such,  in  fact,  is  the  common  asser- 
tion of  the  Greek  thinkers — really  exists  among  men.  But  such 
individuals  constitute  the  rare  exceptions;  the  great  majority 
cling  to  the  world  of  illusion,  and  mistake  the  nature  of  the  good. 
The  contrast  between  sterling  and  worthless  men  is  here  felt 
more  acutely  than  are  their  common  problems  and  common 
destiny;  in  fact,  a  conspicuous  separation  of  the  noble  from  the 
vulgar  appears  indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of  the  moral 
order.  But  when  it  is  said  that  the  multitude,  because  of  its  pro- 
pensity for  sensuous  enjoyment,  approaches  the  manner  of  life 
of  animals,  while  the  sage  in  his  contemplation  of  the  eternal 
world  leads  a  life  akin  to  the  divine,  all  ties  between  them 
threaten  to  dissolve,  and  mankind  to  be  separated  into  two  com- 
pletely unrelated  classes.  And,  indeed,  permanently  so.  For 
here  every  sort  of  faith  in  an  intellectual  and  moral  progress  is 
wanting.  As  in  the  universe,  so  also  in  human  life,  the  relation 
of  good  and  evil  is  regarded  as  in  the  main  unalterable.  The 
sensuous,  the  source  of  all  the  hindrance,  is  abiding;  and  the 
positive  opposition  between  the  sensuous  and  the  spiritual,  be- 
tween the  fleeting  world  of  change  and  immutable  being,  per- 
mits of  no  faith  in  any  sort  of  real  progress.  But  that  does  not 


34  HELLENISM 

mean  doing  away  with  all  movement  and  readjustment  in 
human  affairs.  Plato  accounts  for  these,  in  agreement  with  oldei 
thinkers,  by  the  assumption  of  cycles,  great  world-epochs, 
which  were  first  known  to  astronomy.  After  completing  their 
circuit,  things  come  round  again  to  the  starting-point,  and  then 
repeat  the  same  course  ad  infinitum:  thus  historical  movement  is 
resolved  into  an  endless  series  of  cycles  having  like  contents. 
And  this  order  amid  change  is  presented  as  a  picture  of  eternity. 
Hence  here  we  have  no  historical  development  with  its  hopes 
and  prospects;  here  there  is  no  appeal  from  the  evils  of  the 
present  to  a  better  future. 

Accordingly,  the  Platonic  view  of  the  conduct  of  life  is  defi- 
cient in  a  number  of  motives  which  the  modern  man  regards  as 
indispensable.  On  the  other  hand,  many  cares  and  doubts  are 
unknown  to  it;  and  the  spiritual  nature  of  man,  his  kinship 
with  the  Deity,  here  offers  an  abundant  compensation  for  all 
the  defects  of  average  existence.  The  virtuous  man  can  escape 
from  the  dim  twilight  of  human  relations,  and  fill  his  soul  with 
the  pure  light.  If  he  puts  forth  his  utmost  effort,  the  high  aim 
is  indeed  attainable.  For  Plato  recognises  no  impassable  gulf 
between  the  striving  mind  and  the  truth,  no  erring  on  the  part  of 
him  who  earnestly  seeks:  the  thinking  that  follows  the  right 
method  is  infallible.  Just  as  the  innermost  secrets  of  things  can 
be  penetrated  by  a  powerful  and  courageous  act  of  thought,  so 
such  thinking  exercises  control  over  all  conduct  and  feeling. 
True  knowledge  makes  the  whole  life  rational;  there  is  no  radi- 
cal evil  which  could  prevent  such  progress.  So  each  moment 
an  inspiring  present  may  be  won,  and  life  be  lifted  above  all  the 
defects  of  the  sensuous  sphere  to  a  state  of  stability  and  gladness. 
Activity  is  ever  the  source  of  well-being;  but  since  all  human 
initiative  is  firmly  rooted  in  the  kinship  of  our  nature  with  eter- 
nal being  and  perfect  beauty,  such  activity,  notwithstanding  its 
heroic  uplift,  engenders  no  stormy  excitement  nor  confusing 
unrest. 

Let  us  now  pursue  these  convictions  in  their  application  to  the 
various  departments  of  life. 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       35 

(f )  The  Several  Departments  of  Life 
(a)  RELIGION 

Plato's  nature  is  deeply  religious  in  the  sense  that  the  de- 
pendence of  man  upon  the  universe,  which  pervades  all  his 
work,  both  finds  full  recognition  in  his  positive  convictions  and 
appears  transmuted  into  the  intimacy  of  feeling.  His  thought 
is  permeated  with  the  belief  that  a  "kingly  mind"  rules  the 
universe.  Even  his  diction,  which  is  replete  with  expressions 
borrowed  from  religion  and  worship,  shows  how  profoundly  he 
feels  that  he  is  surrounded  by  the  working  of  a  divine  power. 
But  the  religion  of  Plato  remains  to  the  end  the  religion  of  a 
Greek  thinker;  and  between  this  and  the  Christian  religion 
there  exists  a  wide  chasm.  For  to  the  Greek,  religion  is  not  a 
deliverance  from  direst  extremity,  not  the  restitution  of  the  dis- 
turbed, even  destroyed,  union  with  the  Deity,  not  the  consola- 
tion of  the  helpless  and  the  weak.  Rather,  to  him,  the  secure 
relationship  with  the  divine  which  exists  by  nature  is  not  so 
shattered  by  waywardness  that  it  cannot  be  restored  by  human 
agency  at  any  moment.  Furthermore,  religion  is  here  so  iden- 
tified with  every  form  of  activity  that  it  enhances  the  importance 
of  human  life  and  gives  grandeur  to  all  its  relations.  The  con- 
sciousness of  being  protected  and  supported  in  the  battle  of  life 
by  the  Deity,  fills  the  mind  of  the  sage  with  deep  piety.  Yet 
this  religion  does  not  create  a  world  of  its  own,  and  accordingly 
does  not  form  any  special  sphere  opposed  to  ordinary  life. 
Likewise,  it  does  not  give  rise  to  a  spiritual  community,  or  any- 
thing that  could  be  called  a  personal  relationship;  and  no  up- 
lifting and  inner  renewal  of  life  results  from  the  exercise  of  the 
divine  sway. 

Consequently  no  need  is  felt  of  a  special  historical  revela- 
tion, in  distinction  from  the  general  manifestation  of  the 
divine  in  the  universe  and  in  human  nature.  Just  as  little 
is  there  any  need  felt  for  a  religious  doctrine,  a  theology; 


36  HELLENISM 

Greek  piety  accords  perfectly  with  a  distinct  consciousness  of 
the  great  distance  between  God  and  man.  The  immutable 
and  pure  must  not  be  drawn  into  the  impure  sphere  of  sen- 
suous change;  only  by  means  of  intermediate  steps  can  it  com- 
municate itself  to  the  lower  realm;  God  does  not  mingle  with 
men.  Hence  Plato's  saying:  "God,  the  father  and  creator  of 
the  universe,  is  difficult  to  find,  and,  when  found,  impossible  to 
impart  to  all." 

This  religion  of  active,  healthy,  strong  men  follows,  in  its 
further  development,  the  twofold  direction  of  Plato's  work. 
To  the  metaphysician,  the  search  for  truth  is  itself  the  true 
religion.  God  means  the  absolutely  immutable  and  simple 
Being,  from  whom  all  unchangeableness  and  simplicity,  but 
also  all  truth,  are  derived:  He  is  the  measure  of  all  things. 
It  is  when  man  turns  from  the  broken  reflection  to  the  pure 
source  of  all  light,  that  his  life  is  guided  from  appearance  to 
truth. 

In  the  other  direction,  God  is  the  ideal  of  moral  perfection, 
the  completely  just  and  good  Spirit.  To  become  like  God 
means  to  be  intelligently  pious  and  just;  piety,  however,  is 
nothing  else  than  justice  toward  the  Deity,  the  fulfilment  of  the 
whole  obligation  due  to  the  Godhead.  The  central  point  of 
this  conviction  is  the  conception  of  the  moral  order  of  the  world, 
of  a  full  retribution  for  good  and  evil.  But,  while  thus  adopting 
the  fundamental  conception  of  the  Greek  religion,  Plato  broad- 
ens and  deepens  it.  In  the  opinion  of  the  people,  retribution 
was  to  be  expected  in  this  world;  if  it  did  not  fall  upon  the  indi- 
vidual, it  would  fall  upon  his  house.  Plato,  too,  looked  for  jus- 
tice in  this  life;  but  its  complete  triumph  he  believed  would 
come  only  in  the  Beyond.  He  developed  the  conception  of  a 
judgment  after  death,  which  would  be  a  judgment  of  the  soul  in 
its  nakedness,  and  would  be  incorruptible  in  its  verdict;  and 
the  marvellous  power  of  his  delineation  has  engraved  this  picture 
upon  the  imagination  of  mankind  for  all  time.  But  it  is  not 
Plato's  intention  to  direct  the  thoughts  of  men  mainly  beyond 
the  grave.  Of  the  dead,  we  ought  to  think  that  they  have  passed 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       37 

away,  after  their  work  is  ended  and  their  mission  fulfilled;  but 
for  ourselves  we  must  give  heed  to  the  present. 

The  Platonic  justice  never  passes  into  severity;  it  is  tem- 
pered with  mercy.  Nevertheless,  it  always  stands  before  love, 
and  the  moral  realm  here  appears  as  a  world-state  ruled  by  the 
Deity — a  view  which  profoundly  influenced  later  times,  includ- 
ing Christianity. 

That  Plato  in  this  particular  does  not  abandon  so  much  as 
develop  the  popular  belief  is  of  a  piece  with  that  other  fact  that, 
notwithstanding  his  energetic  defence  of  a  unity  dominating  the 
world,  he  does  not  surrender  the  plurality  of  divine  forces,  but, 
by  teaching  the  immanence  of  the  life  of  nature,  transplants  the 
mythological  conception  to  the  soil  of  philosophy.  But  wher- 
ever the  popular  views  contradict  the  purified  notions  of  phil- 
osophy, Plato  does  not  shrink  from  making  vigorous  protest, 
nor  even  from  open  hostility.  He  rejects  all  that  is  ignoble  and 
unworthy  in  the  customary  representations  of  the  gods;  he  re- 
jects with  even  greater  indignation  a  form  of  Worship  which, 
instead  of  inculcating  an  approach  to  the  Deity  by  means  of 
good  deeds  and  moral  worth,  teaches  the  purchase  of  His 
favour  by  outward  observances,  sacrifices,  and  the  like,  and 
thus  shamefully  degrades  religion  to  the  level  of  a  traffic.  Only 
small  men,  only  weaklings,  will  make  use  of  such  means;  in 
reality  it  is  the  man  of  action  who  may  be  certain  of  the  divine 
help:  the  thought  of  the  Deity,  which  is  a  terror  to  the  evil- 
doer fills  the  former  with  glad  anticipations. 

(ft)   THE  STATE 

Plato's  ascetic  tendency  implies  a  decidedly  negative  attitude 
toward  the  state.  Where  the  immediate  world  is  a  thing  of 
change  and  illusion,  where,  moreover,  a  mind  immersed  in  in- 
tellectual pursuits  finds  itself  out  of  sympathy  with  its  social 
surroundings,  there  political  life  can  hardly  appear  as  an  at- 
tractive field  for  co-operation.  None  the  less,  the  state  strongly 
attracts  Plato;  and  the  fact  bears  ample  testimony  to  the  force 


38  HELLENISM 

with  which  he  is  recalled  from  the  world  of  abstract  thought  to 
an  active  interest  in  the  community.  In  reality,  political  theory 
occupies  a  large  place  in  Plato's  world  of  thought;  and  the  prin- 
cipal stages  in  his  inner  development  are  reflected  in  its  suc- 
cessive ideals. 

The  latest  view,  which  is  contained  in  "The  Laws,"  may  here 
be  disregarded,  since,  notwithstanding  the  wisdom  of  many 
individual  utterances,  it  possesses  too  little  completeness.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  two  views  of  the  state  which  "The  Republic" 
presents  must  be  considered. 

In  the  first,  we  find  Plato  an  energetic  reformer  of  the  Greek 
state,  along  the  line  of  an  enlargement  of  the  Socratic  doctrine. 
The  state  is  treated — with  a  sustained  analogy  to  the  individual 
soul — as  exhibiting  the  ideal  of  justice  writ  large.  To  this  end, 
all  its  affairs,  and  particularly  education,  should  be  regulated 
in  strict  accordance  with  the  laws  of  ethics;  the  principal  func- 
tions of  society  should  be  definitely  distinguished,  in  conformity 
with  the  stages  of  soul  life,  and  represented  by  the  activity  of 
fixed  classes;  each  individual  should  perform  his  special  task 
with  whole-souled  devotion,  yet  all  should  work  together  under 
the  reign  of  intelligence  toward  one  harmonious  result.  In 
order  not  to  be  drawn  away  from  the  service  of  the  common 
end  by  private  interests,  the  higher  classes  must  relinquish 
private  property  and  family  ties;  hence  communism  on  eth- 
ical, not  economic,  grounds  forms  the  copestone  of  the  Platonic 
theory. 

Thus  the  state  becomes  an  ethical  ideal,  an  empire  of  virtue 
based  upon  insight.  Drawn  in  bold  lines,  this  picture  appears 
at  first  to  present  a  sharp  contrast  to  reality;  closer  inspection, 
however,  reveals  a  number  of  threads  of  connection  between 
the  daring  speculations  of  the  thinker  and  actual  Greek  condi- 
tions. For  at  this  time  Plato  still  believed  in  the  possibility  of 
great  reforms  in  the  institutions  of  Greece. 

The  later  sketch  of  the  state  surrenders  this  hope.  The 
longing  for  the  realm  of  immutable  being  has  in  the  end  so 
estranged  the  thinker  from  the  conditions  of  human  existence 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       39 

that  he  looks  back  upon  life  as  he  might  upon  a  gloomy  cavern 
seen  from  a  lofty  elevation.  If,  nevertheless,  he  returns  thither, 
he  does  so,  not  to  please  himself,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  breth- 
ren, and  less  in  the  hope  of  any  result  than  in  order  even  there 
to  proclaim  the  eternal  truths.  The  state  which  originates 
from  this  attitude  is  above  all  an  institution  for  the  preparation 
of  men  for  the  realm  of  eternal  truth;  here  the  task  is,  by  an 
orderly  ascent,  gradually  to  free  the  soul  from  the  sensuous,  and 
win  it  over  to  the  supersensuous;  thus  the  whole  of  life  be- 
comes a  stern  education,  a  spiritual  purification;  and  this  edu- 
cation gradually  raises  man  to  a  world  in  the  presence  of  which 
all  political  life  vanishes.  By  means  of  the  state  itself  there 
results  an  emancipation  from  the  sphere  to  which  the  state 
belongs. 

Thus  the  two  views  are  not  only  different  but  incompatible. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  the  disagreement,  there  are  important  features 
which  are  common  to  both,  and  which  give  to  the  Platonic  state 
a  unity  of  character.  In  both,  the  state  is  man  magnified;  all 
authority  rests  with  superior  intelligence;  spiritual  and  moral 
goods  are  the  principal  content  of  the  life  of  the  state;  the  indi- 
vidual is  everywhere  subordinated  to  the  whole.  Without  an 
elimination  of  individual  initiative  and  the  establishment  of 
irrevocable  ordinances,  the  state  cannot  enter  into  the  service  of 
reason.  But  this  permanence  of  conditions  and  strict  subordi- 
nation of  the  individual  Plato  demands  at  the  same  moment 
that  he  raises  human  personality  high  above  the  state,  subjects 
traditional  conditions  to  a  searching  criticism,  and  devises  the 
boldest  schemes  for  complete  reconstruction.  Accordingly,  he 
demands  for  the  philosopher  a  privilege  which  he  denies  to  the 
rest  of  mankind:  the  state  ought  to  receive  a  content  free  from 
all  subjective  opinion,  yet  it  must  receive  it  through  the  mental 
labour  of  the  sovereign  personality.  This  contradiction  alone 
was  sufficient  to  prevent  Plato's  doctrine  from  exercising  the 
slightest  contemporary  influence:  such  valuable  suggestions 
and  fruitful  seeds  as  it  contained  were  forced  to  await  for  their 
appreciation  entirely  different  conditions. 


40  HELLENISM 


(7)   ART 

Plato's  labours  on  behalf  of  art  and  of  the  state  illustrate  the 
irony  of  fate.  He  expended  upon  the  state,  a  subject  foreign  to 
his  innermost  nature,  an  incalculable  amount  of  trouble,  while 
art,  to  which  the  deepest  chords  of  his  being  responded,  failed 
of  an  adequate  theoretical  consideration.  In  fact,  the  very 
thinker  who,  more  than  any  other,  was  an  artist  in  his  thinking, 
heaped  accusation  after  accusation  upon  art.  The  metaphysical 
and  ethical  sides  of  his  nature  conspired  against  the  artistic. 
As,  in  his  view,  a  mere  imitation  of  the  sensuous,  a  copy  of  the 
copy,  art  retreats  to  the  farthest  distance  from  essential  being. 
The  varied  and  changing  forms  for  which  art,  particularly  the 
drama,  demands  our  sympathetic  interest,  are  only  a  hindrance, 
since  one's  own  individual  r61e  in  life  offers  quite  enough  for 
consideration.  Offensive  also  is  the  impure  content  of  the  poetry 
dominated  by  mythological  ideas;  finally,  the  feverish  excite- 
ment of  the  emotional  life,  which  Plato  sees  taking  possession  of 
the  art  of  his  time,  is  highly  objectionable.  In  all  this  we  miss 
a  proper  aesthetic  valuation  of  art:  such  an  estimate  was  ren- 
dered peculiarly  difficult  for  a  Greek  thinker  by  the  intimate 
connection  of  art  with  the  ethical  and  religious  life  of  the  nation. 
Hence  there  followed  a  severe  conflict;  in  spite  of  personal  sym- 
pathy, whatever  endangered  the  moral  welfare  had  to  go. 
Entire  species  of  art,  such  as  the  drama,  are  rejected  without 
qualification;  what  remains  must  conform  unconditionally  to 
the  requirements  of  morals.  In  this  conflict  between  ethical 
and  aesthetic  interests,  morals  win  an  unqualified  victory.  Still, 
for  Plato,  the  subordination  of  art  does  not  mean  any  deprecia- 
tion of  beauty.  For  him,  there  is  a  way  from  the  evils  of  human 
conduct  to  the  beauty  of  the  universe.  And,  just  as  in  the 
cosmos,  the  good  allies  itself  with  beauty,  with  a  severe  and 
chaste  beauty,  so  also  the  search  for  truth,  the  work  of  science, 
receives  an  artistic  form.  In  other  words,  the  structure  of  sci- 
ence itself  becomes  the  highest  and  truest  work  of  art. 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       41 


<>  SCIENCE 

Science  as  understood  by  Plato  is  radically  different  from 
modern  science.  It  does  not  seek  for  the  minutest  elements  in 
order  to  construct  the  real  world  out  of  their  combination; 
rather,  it  embraces  all  phenomena  from  the  first  in  a  single 
view;  explanation  proceeds  from  the  greater  to  the  less,  from 
the  whole  to  the  part;  synthesis  governs  analysis.  "To  see 
things  together,"  to  recognise  relationships — that  is  for  Plato 
the  chief  characteristic  of  the  philosopher,  whose  peculiar 
greatness  lies  in  creative  intuition. 

Similarly,  Platonic  science  is  not,  like  modem  science,  a 
translation  of  existence  into  terms  of  a  gradual  evolution,  an 
explanation  of  being  by  change;  on  the  contrary,  its  aim  is  to 
find  eternal  being  amid  fleeting  change,  a  perfectly  ordered 
cosmos  amid  the  chaos  of  the  phenomenal  world.  But,  finding 
the  essence  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  long  and  tedious  labour 
as  it  is  an  act  of  insight;  mental  power  transports  us  to  the 
realm  of  truth  at  a  stroke.  Here  science  is  free  from  the  gnawing 
doubt  that  otherwise  attacks  it  at  the  very  root.  Only  thus  can 
it  provide  a  support  to  life  and  fill  it  with  a  joyful  confidence. 

In  this  view  of  knowledge,  all  the  emphasis  falls  upon  the 
fundamental  questions,  and  the  subordinate  sciences  are  re- 
garded merely  as  preliminaries  to  philosophy.  Only  mathe- 
matics, as  the  science  which  conducts  us  from  the  sensuous  to 
the  supersensuous,  receives  full  recognition.  On  the  other 
hand,  all  concern  with  the  varied  content  of  the  sensible  world 
appears  of  small  worth,  and  any  assertion  regarding  it  merely  as 
a  more  or  less  plausible  assumption.  Moreover,  all  interpreta- 
tion of  nature  proceeds  from  the  soul,  which  is  also  the  ground 
of  all  motion  in  the  universe.  By  the  vigorous  development  of 
such  convictions,  Plato  did  serious  injury  to  the  pursuit  of  natu- 
ral science:  a  network  of  subjective  notions  here  overspread  the 
actual  world,  and  prevented  an  unbiassed  estimate  of  things  in 
their  natural  relations;  as  a  consequence,  the  important  begin- 


42  HELLENISM 

nings  of  an  exact  knowledge  of  nature  contained  in  the  pre- 
Socratic  philosophy  were  lost  for  more  than  two  thousand 
years.  The  strong  point  in  Plato's  achievement  lies  in  the  pure 
philosophy  of  concepts,  the  dialectic,  which  accepts  nothing 
from  without,  and  even  gives  a  full  justification  of  its  own 
bases.  Here  there  is  consummated  a  triumphant  emancipation 
of  thought  from  all  material  bonds;  while  a  complete  confidence 
of  the  mind  in  its  own  faculties  is  taught  by  example.  When 
Plato  calls  the  dialectic  method  "the  highest  gift  of  the  gods, 
and  the  true  Promethean  fire,"  such  an  estimate  possesses  for 
him  the  fullest  personal  truth. 

(g)  Retrospect 

The  most  important  and  most  fruitful  in  results  of  all  Plato's 
achievements  is  undoubtedly  the  basing  of  human  activity  and 
the  whole  structure  of  civilisation  upon  theoretical  knowledge: 
it  meant  a  new  inner  stability  of  life  and  a  substantial  elevation 
of  our  existence.  But  we  saw  that  the  granting  of  such  promi- 
nence to  theoretical  knowledge  by  no  means  entailed  the  dwarf- 
ing of  the  remaining  forms  of  man's  activity;  on  the  contrary, 
all  the  chief  directions  of  human  labour  were  permitted  to  develop 
without  obstruction  and  mutually  to  strengthen  and  further  one 
another.  As  the  various  aspects  of  Plato's  mind  were  bound  to- 
gether by  the  powerful,  broad  personality  of  the  man,  so  all  the 
diverging  tendencies  of  his  own  life  inevitably  again  converged 
and  united  themselves  into  a  single  life-work.  In  later  times, 
indeed,  the  diverging  currents  of  man's  activity  flowed  further 
apart,  and  forbade  so  complete  a  reunion.  Yet  this  subsequent 
tendency  toward  specialisation  makes  the  life  and  labour  of  Plato 
only  the  more  valuable.  For  the  latter  present  vividly  to  our 
minds  that  unity  of  a  many-sided  activity  which  he  attained, 
and  which  even  we  may  not  surrender,  although  now  it  rises 
before  us  only  as  a  remote  ideal.  So,  in  general,  antiquity  re- 
garded many  aims  as  speedily  attainable,  which  in  the  course 
of  history  have  ever  displayed  new  complications  and  ever  re- 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       43 

ceded  further  from  us:  should  we,  therefore,  look  upon  them  as 
worthless  ? 

Plato  represents  the  zenith  of  the  intellectual  development  of 
Greece.  Its  two  chief  tendencies,  the  desire  for  knowledge  and 
the  sense  for  form,  the  scientific  and  the  artistic  impulses,  found 
in  him  their  most  intimate  union  and  most  fruitful  mutual  inter- 
action. His  view  of  life  brought  the  characteristic  Greek  ideal- 
ism to  its  most  clearly  defined  expression.  Its  peculiar  type 
consists  in  the  inextricable  interweaving  of  these  convictions:  that 
the  indomitable  work  of  thought  discloses  a  new  world  of  true 
being  and  genuine  happiness,  that  this  world  is  in  ceaseless  con- 
flict with  the  actual  world  and  can  never  fully  overcome  its  re- 
sistance, that,  however,  in  its  own  inexhaustible  life  it  remains 
superior  to  all  assaults,  and  by  its  immutable  truth  and  beauty 
it  lifts  men  securely  above  the  sphere  of  strife  and  suffering. 
The  kinship  of  this  view  of  life  with  that  later  developed  by 
Christianity  is  as  unmistakable  as  is  their  wide  divergence  within 
the  same  limits.  In  both,  the  aim  is  to  gain  a  higher  world;  but 
in  Plato  true  insight  is  the  way  thither,  in  Christianity  purity  of 
heart;  in  both,  the  Deity  is  at  work  in  human  affairs;  but  with 
Plato  the  divine  is  operative  equally  at  all  times  and  in  all 
places,  in  nature  as  well  as  among  men,  while  Christianity 
shows  the  divine  revelation  as  culminating  at  a  single  point  in 
human  history,  and  hence  arrives  at  the  doctrine  of  an  historical 
development,  a  thing  unknown  to  Plato,  and  something  which 
he  must  necessarily  have  rejected. 

The  inexhaustible  influence  of  the  great  idealist  of  Greece  is 
due  quite  as  much  to  the  spontaneous  life  animating  all  his 
work  as  to  the  diverse  tendencies  which  freely  unfold  and  cul- 
minate in  him.  Throughout  the  whole  course  of  history  Plato's 
philosophy  has  acted  as  a  powerful  stimulus  to  men's  minds,  re- 
sisting every  tendency  of  thought  to  relapse  into  the  formal  and 
the  pedantic,  and  continually  turning  the  gaze  away  from  the 
petty  toward  the  great,  and  away  from  the  limited  and  the 
bounded  toward  the  broad  and  the  free.  Moreover,  out  of  the 


44  HELLENISM 

abundance  of  his  riches  Plato  has  offered  diverse  things  to  di- 
verse epochs.  In  later  antiquity,  he  became  the  protagonist  of 
those  who  sought  to  satisfy  by  means  of  philosophy  the  growing 
religious  longing:  he  was  recognised  as  the  priestly  herald  of  the 
true  wisdom,  which  freed  men  from  the  beguiling  illusion  of  the 
senses  and  guided  their  thoughts  back  to  the  eternal  home. 
Yet  the  same  philosopher,  with  his  many-sided  life,  his  artistic 
charm,  and  his  youthful  joy  in  beauty,  became  the  favourite 
thinker  of  the  Renaissance:  reverence  for  him  was  in  that  age 
the  bond  of  union  between  the  greatest  masters.  And  do  not 
such  names  as  Winckelmann,  Schleiermacher,  and  Boeckh 
show  how  far  Plato's  influence  extends  into  our  own  time? 
Thus,  his  life-work  has  woven  a  golden  cord  about  the  ages,  and 
the  saying  of  the  later  Greek  philosopher,  "The  Platonic  grace 
and  charm  are  forever  new,"  has  perfect  truth  even  to-day. 

HI.  ARISTOTLE 
(a)  General  Characteristics 

Aristotle's  (384-322)  view  of  life  was  determined  by  quite 
other  conditions  of  fortune  and  personal  character.  The  son  of 
a  Macedonian  court  physician,  he  was  not  involved  by  birth 
and  education  in  the  inner  conflicts  of  Greek  life,  as  was  Plato, 
nor  was  he  driven  by  indignation  at  the  sordidness  of  actual 
conditions  into  antagonism  to  them;  rather  he  came  from  the 
borders  of  the  Greek  world  to  its  centre,  impelled  by  the  sole 
desire  to  appropriate  the  accumulated  riches  of  a  fully  matured 
civilisation.  Furthermore,  he  found  there  an  entirely  different 
state  of  things  than  did  the  reformer  Plato.  The  intellectual 
ferment,  the  ferverish  excitement,  the  brilliant  creative  work 
of  the  fifth  century  were  long  past.  The  time  had  come  for 
calm,  deliberate  research;  and  it  was  to  this  work  of  research 
that  Aristotle  gave  himself,  and  his  labours  represent  its  culmina- 
tion. Thoroughly  Greek  in  character  and  disposition,  he  was 
yet  far  enough  removed  from  the  turmoil  of  daily  life  to  survey 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       45 

with  impartiality  the  total  achievement  of  the  Greek  people,  and 
to  find  in  his  joy  in  this  employment  consolation  for  the  evils  of 
the  time. 

At  the  first  view,  the  sober  prose  of  the  Aristotelian  narrative, 
the  simple  objectivity  of  his  method,  and  the  severe  repression 
of  all  personal  feeling  might  easily  create  the  impression  that 
the  thinker  had  already  outgrown  the  associations  of  classical 
antiquity,  and  belonged  to  the  learned  period  of  Hellenism. 
Unquestionably  Aristotle  was  a  great  scholar,  perhaps  the 
greatest  the  world  has  known;  but  before  all  else  he  was  a  pro- 
found thinker,  a  man  of  all-comprehensive  ideas  and  great 
power  of  statement.  That  he  assimilated  to  his  own  ideas  a 
vast  material,  and  so  prescribed  the  course  which  science  and 
philosophy  followed  for  centuries,  constitutes  his  principal  title 
to  greatness.  As  a  thinker,  however,  Aristotle  is  wholly  rooted 
in  the  classical  world :  its  fundamental  views,  its  valuations, 
work  on  uninterruptedly  in  him.  Whoever  traces  his  doctrines 
and  conceptions  back  to  their  source  soon  becomes  aware  of  the 
peculiar  Greek  quality  concealed  beneath  their  apparent  uni- 
versality. In  a  word,  Aristotle's  system  brings  the  substance  of 
the  classic  world  of  Greece  to  marvellously  perfect  scientific 
expression,  and  so  hands  it  down  to  future  humanity. 

The  sympathetic  attitude  toward  tradition,  and  the  endeavour 
to  maintain  a  friendly  relation  with  actual  conditions,  of  them- 
selves indicate  a  disposition  different  from  that  of  Plato.  In- 
stead of  the  latter's  powerful  and  independent  personality,  with 
its  inevitable  antagonism  to  its  surroundings,  its  passionate  fer- 
vour and  the  strong,  harshly  contrasted  colours  of  its  view  of  the 
world,  we  have  in  Aristotle  a  simple,  serious,  never-wearying 
effort  to  comprehend  the  objective  world,  to  discover  its  actual 
state,  and  to  trace  all  its  relationships.  With  this  appeal  to  the 
actual  world,  this  linking  of  thought  with  things,  activity  re- 
solves itself  into  the  tireless  industry  that  energetically  explores 
the  world  and  brings  forth  its  hidden  riches  for  the  service  of 
man.  Thus,  out  of  the  philosophy  created  by  a  sovereign  per- 
sonality there  grows  the  philosophy  resulting  from  an  all-con- 


46  HELLENISM 

quering  industry;  this  too  is  a  permanent  type,  and  the  source 
of  a  particular  view  of  life. 

(b)  Elements  of  the  Aristotelian  View  of  the  World 

The  peculiar  character  of  the  Aristotelian  view  of  the  world 
appears  most  readily  by  comparison  with  the  Platonic.  Aris- 
totle himself  is  chiefly  conscious  of  his  opposition  to  Plato; 
whereas,  in  truth,  they  have  a  great  deal  in  common.  First  of 
all,  he  shares  with  Plato  the  conviction  that  human  life  is  to  be 
comprehended  only  from  the  stand-point  of  the  whole  of  reality: 
with  him,  also,  our  existence  finds  its  source  in  the  cosmos;  our 
deeds  are  true  through  conformity  with  reality;  all  activity  fol- 
lows its  object,  all  method  the  matter  in  hand.  But  it  is  intelli- 
gence that  unites  us  to  the  universe;  hence,  here  also,  intelli- 
gence is  the  essence  of  our  being.  Truth  is  revealed  only  to 
thought,  and  to  thought  in  the  form  of  concepts;  hence,  here 
again,  philosophy  becomes  pre-eminently  the  science  of  concepts; 
investigation  should  transform  the  world  into  a  realm  of  con- 
cepts. Finally,  Aristotle  shares  with  his  master  the  high  regard 
for  form;  it  constitutes  also  for  him  the  abiding  essence  as  well 
as  the  worth  and  beauty  of  things. 

With  such  decided  agreement  in  the  general  point  of  view, 
Aristotle's  philosophy  retains  enough  kinship  with  Platonism  to 
admit  of  its  being  harmonised  with  a  broad  view  of  the  latter. 
But  apart  from  this  general  similarity,  it  presents  the  furthest 
conceivable  divergence  from  Platonism.  For,  while  for  Plato 
there  is  no  eternal  truth  and  no  pure  beauty  without  the  strictest 
separation  of  the  world  of  essence  from  that  of  appearance, 
Aristotle's  chief  concern  is  to  show  the  unity  of  all  reality.  Ac- 
cording to  the  latter's  conviction,  we  only  need  to  understand 
the  world  aright  in  order  to  recognise  in  it  an  empire  of  reason, 
and  to  find  in  it  all  that  human  beings  require.  The  Platonic 
Doctrine  of  Ideas  is  rejected  as  an  inadmissible  separation  of 
the  actual  world  from  the  world  of  real  being.  Moreover,  there 
is  no  room  here  for  a  religion.  To  be  sure,  Aristotle  affirms  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       47 

existence  of  a  transcendent  Deity  as  the  source  of  reason,  and 
as  the  origin  of  the  motion  which  from  eternity  to  eternity  per- 
vades the  universe.*  But  he  denies  to  this  Deity  any  activity 
within  the  world;  concern  with  external  things,  not  to  say  petty 
human  affairs,  would  destroy  the  completeness  of  the  Deity's 
life.  So  God,  or  pure  Intelligence,  himself  unmoved,  moves  the 
world  by  his  mere  being;  any  further  development  of  things 
arises  from  their  own  nature.  Here,  accordingly,  there  is  no 
moral  order  of  the  world,  and  no  Providence.  Likewise,  there 
can  be  no  hope  of  a  personal  immortality.  True,  the  power  of 
thought  in  us  does  not  spring  from  a  mere  natural  process;  and 
it  will  not  be  extinguished  with  the  dissolution  of  the  body,  but 
return  to  the  universal  reason.  But  such  indestructibility  of  the 
divine  in  us  does  not  mean  the  continuance  of  the  individual. 

With  the  disappearance  of  religion  the  spiritual  inwardness 
and  greatness  of  soul  of  a  Plato  are  lost.  Life  receives  narrower 
limits,  and  its  dominant  feeling  becomes  more  sober.  But  the 
above  negation  has  not  the  significance  for  Aristotle  of  a  sur- 
render of  the  rationality  of  the  actual  world,  or  of  the  ideality  of 
life.  The  world  with  its  own  undisrupted  being  here  seems  equal 
to  the  attainment  of  all  aims,  while  the  present  life  now  becomes 
of  sufficient  importance  fully  to  occupy  and  to  satisfy  mankind. 
But  the  rationality  of  the  world  does  not  lie  exposed  upon  the 
surface;  science  is  necessary,  in  order  to  free  the  appearance  of 
things  from  illusion  and  to  penetrate  beyond  the  confusions  and 
contradictions  of  the  first  impression  to  the  harmony  of  the 
whole.  Out  of  the  effort  to  attain  this  unity  there  springs  a 
thoroughly  individual  view  of  the  world  and  of  life,  a  system  of 
immanent  idealism,  which  is  incomparable  in  the  poise  and 
precision  of  its  achievement. 

The  first  antithesis  Aristotle  undertakes  to  solve  is  that  of 
Matter  and  Form.  Plato,  to  insure  its  independence  and  purity, 
severed  Form  completely  from  sensuous  existence,  and  ascribed 
it  to  the  latter  only  in  a  derivative  sense.  But  Aristotle  knows 
Form  only  as  united  with  Matter;  it  is  actual  only  within  the 
living  process  which  always  includes  Matter  also.  This  living 

*  See  Appendix  A. 


48  HELLENISM 

process  is  a  striving  upward  of  Matter  toward  Form,  and  a 
seizure  of  the  Matter  by  the  Form.  For  the  principal  movement 
always  resides  with  the  Form,  as  the  animating  and  shaping 
Force.  Hence  the  developed  being  must  always  precede  the 
one  which  is  evolving,  and  every  attempt  to  derive  the  actual 
from  non-rational  beginnings  must  be  rejected.  In  the  case  of 
terrestrial  life,  it  is  true  that  the  Matter  is  confined  only  for  a 
limited  time,  and  in  death  disappears  from  the  structure.  But 
in  generation  the  Form  continually  seizes  new  Matter,  so  that 
evolution  is  a  constant  victory  of  Form  over  the  formless,  and 
also  of  the  good  over  the  less  good.  For  in  view  of  the  readiness 
with  which  Matter  receives  the  Form,  it  would  hardly  do  to 
speak  of  a  principle  of  evil.  Aristotle,  indeed,  is  proud  of  the  fact 
that  his  own  system  does  not  ascribe  an  independent  power  to 
evil,  and  hence  avoids  any  duality  of  principles.  Such  evils  as 
exist  in  human  affairs  spring  from  the  tendency  in  Matter  not 
to  carry  out  fully  the  movement  toward  Form,  but  to  remain 
arrested  upon  a  lower  stage.  In  this  way  much  that  fails  of  its 
purpose  originates.  Yet  the  philosopher  is  reassured  by  the  re- 
flection that  evil  nowhere  manifests  an  independent  nature,  but 
always  consists  in  an  abatement  from  the  good,  a  deprivation  of 
excellence. 

Such  a  solution  of  the  antithesis  alters  the  view  of  develop- 
ment inwardly  as  well.  If  Form  is  less  an  archetype  superior  to 
things  than  a  force  at  work  within  them,  what  we  may  call  the 
artistic  view  of  reality  fades  before  the  dynamic;  the  evolution 
of  life  itself  becomes  the  main  thing.  The  world  now  appears 
ruled  by  ends,  that  is,  by  life-wholes,  which  comprise  within 
themselves  a  multitude  of  processes  and  unite  them  to  a  joint 
result.  Such  life- wholes  are  seen  first  of  all  in  organisms,  which 
exist  in  an  ascending  scale  according  to  the  degree  of  articula- 
tion. That  is  to  say,  the  more  sharply  the  organs  and  functions 
are  separated  the  greater  will  be  the  total  efficiency:  man 
accordingly  constitutes  the  highest  form  of  natural  life.  But 
the  sphere  of  ends  extends  beyond  the  realm  of  organic  beings 
to  the  universe;  or  rather,  the  conception  of  the  organic  em- 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       49 

braces  the  whole  of  nature.  Nowhere  in  the  universe  do  mo- 
tions appear  to  intersect  each  other  confusedly,  rather  every 
motion  takes  place  in  a  determinate  direction,  and  arrives  at  a 
fixed  point  of  termination,  where  it  passes  into  a  permanent 
state,  namely,  some  equivalent  effect.  Herewith  we  encounter 
the  sharp  distinction  between  an  activity  directed  merely  to  an 
end  beyond  itself,  and  the  complete  activity  that  has  its  end 
within  itself,  called  in  Aristotelian  phrase  "energy."  This  com- 
plete activity,  with  its  development  of  all  latent  capacities,  and 
its  union  of  all  multiplicity  into  a  living  process,  is  in  no  wise 
a  mere  play  upon  the  surface,  but  moves  the  whole  being  and 
discloses  the  uttermost  depths  of  things.  This  holds  good  both 
of  the  individual  and  of  the  universe.  Traversed  by  movement, 
complete  activity  itself  remains  at  rest,  and  forms,  with  all  its 
complexity,  a  living,  organic  whole — not  something  "episodic," 
like  a  bad  tragedy. 

A  similar  effort  to  attain  unity  appears  in  Aristotle's  treat- 
ment of  the  mind  and  the  body,  or  the  inner  and  the  outer.  He 
neither  knows  of,  nor  looks  for,  a  separate  existence  of  the  soul. 
The  soul  forms  with  the  body  a  single  life-process;  it  needs  the 
body,  just  as  vision  needs  the  eye,  or  any  function  its  organ. 
Hence  the  sensuous  ought  never  to  be  decried;  even  in  the 
process  of  knowledge  it  stands  in  high  honour.  True,  this  pri- 
mary view  is  summarily  sacrificed  to  the  necessity  that  thought 
should  surmount  all  natural  processes.  It  could  not  grasp  an 
enduring  truth,  nor  reproduce  faithfully  the  varied  multiplicity 
of  things,  were  it  entangled  in  the  changes  and  contradictions  of 
the  sensuous  world.  We  must,  therefore,  assign  to  thought  a 
position  of  supremacy,  a  share  in  the  divine  and  the  eternal. 
Yet  whatever  transpires  upon  this  summit  alters  nothing  of  the 
outlook  upon  the  rest  of  the  world;  this  shows  soul  and  body 
closely  intertwined  and  co-ordinated. 

In  harmony  with  his  fundamentally  monistic  tendency,  Aris- 
totle is  likewise  unable  to  separate  inner  from  outer  in  the  matter 
of  conduct,  and  so  to  build  up  a  moral  realm  of  pure  inward- 
ness; rather  he  places  inner  and  outer  in  a  relation  of  unceasing 


So  HELLENISM 

reciprocity,  and  everywhere  unites  energy  of  will  and  compliant 
outer  conditions  into  a  single  organic  whole.  In  his  view,  all 
volition  tends  to  become  externally  visible,  and  since  such  an 
outward  embodiment  requires  external  means,  the  environment 
acquires  far  greater  worth  than  it  possessed  for  Plato.  Likewise, 
the  soul  is  here  not  furnished  with  ready-made  concepts,  but 
must  acquire  them  at  the  hands  of  experience;  so,  too,  social 
surroundings  exercise  a  decisive  influence  upon  moral  develop- 
ment. For  such  capacities  for  moral  growth  as  slumber  in  us 
are  aroused  and  developed  only  by  action:  yet  conduct  must  at 
first  be  imposed  from  without  in  the  form  of  customs  and  laws; 
then,  finally,  the  outward  requirement  becomes  transformed  into 
personal  volition.  Hence,  in  direct  opposition  to  Plato,  for  whom 
there  could  be  no  true  morality,  i.  e.f  virtue  founded  upon  in- 
sight, without  a  liberation  from  all  social  bonds,  we  have  in 
Aristotle  a  recognition  of  the  beneficent  influence  of  society. 

Aristotle  further  brings  about  a  nearer  approach  of  the  uni- 
versal and  the  particular.  Thus,  he  does  not  sever  the  univer- 
sals  from  individual  things  and  oppose  them  to  the  latter,  as 
does  Plato;  instead,  he  ascribes  reality  to  them  only  as  existing 
in  concrete  individuals.  Nor  is  he  fond  of  dwelling  upon  some 
summit  of  the  highest  universality;  rather  his  thought  is  per- 
sistently drawn  back  to  the  world  of  perception  and  captured 
by  its  wealth  of  life.  Whatever  belongs  to  a  thing  exclusively 
and  as  a  differentia  he  recognises  as  the  completion  of  its  being. 
Thus,  e.  g.,  that  which  is  peculiar  to  man  forms  the  perfection 
of  his  nature,  not  what  he  possesses  in  common  with  other  liv- 
ing beings. 

The  principal  contrast  under  which  effort  is  viewed  by  Aris- 
totle is  that  of  mere  existence  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  complete 
activity  on  the  other;,  of  empty,  unsatisfied  life,  which  ever 
looks  vaguely  beyond,  and  of  life  which  realises  its  end  and 
finds  satisfaction  in  itself;  of  the  being  given  by  nature  ffiv), 
and  that  well-being  (ev  ffiv)  which  is  achieved  by  one's  own 
acts.  The  state  of  nature  is  indeed  the  necessary  presupposition 
of  all  development;  and,  viewed  from  this  stand-point,  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD        51 

higher  stages  may  appear  to  be  superfluous.  But  it  is  in  rising 
above  the  plane  of  mere  necessity  that  life  acquires  content  and 
worth;  then  we  attain  something  that  pleases  in  itself;  then  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  realm  of  beauty,  and  hence  of  real  joy 
in  life. 

Aristotle,  in  fact,  is  profoundly  convinced  that  complete  activ- 
ity, with  its  transformation  of  the  whole  being  into  living  reality, 
yields  at  the  same  time  the  full  sense  of  happiness.  Hence  hap- 
piness is  principally  our  own  creation;  it  cannot  be  communi- 
cated from  without,  nor  put  on  like  an  ornament;  rather  it  is 
proportional  to  rational  activity  and  increases  with  it.  If  it  be 
true  that  all  life  possesses  a  "natural  sweetness,"  it  must  be  par- 
ticularly satisfying  to  the  virtuous  man,  who  knows  how  to  give 
it  a  noble  content.  Whoever  condemns  pleasure,  considers  only 
its  lowest  forms,  since  it  may  accompany  activity  on  all  its 
higher  levels.  Moreover,  pleasure  may  lead  to  the  refinement 
and  perfecting  of  activity,  as,  e.  g.,  delight  in  music  promotes  its 
creation.  With  this  vindication  of  pleasure  as  the  accompani- 
ment of  all  normal  activity,  we  reach  the  classical  expression  of 
"  eudemonism,"  which  teaches  that  the  pleasure  inseparable 
from  activity  stands  far  above  all  selfish  enjoyment. 

Hence  only  when  activity  attains  complete,  substantial  effi- 
ciency does  it  lift  human  existence  up  to  happiness.  All  show 
in  conduct  yields  only  the  show  of  happiness.  Accordingly, 
Aristotle  insists  upon  veracity,  and  denounces  every  form  of 
pretence:  "solid,"  "genuine"  (cnrovBaio^ ,  is  his  favourite  ex- 
pression for  the  man  who  is  the  embodiment  of  virtue. 

But  excellence  rises  into  distinction  by  the  working  out  of  the 
difference  between  beauty  and  utility,  or  that  which  pleases  in 
itself,  and  that  which  is  valued  as  a  means  to  something  else. 
Whoever  makes  utility  the  chief  consideration  is  guilty  of  an 
inner  perversion  of  life.  For  the  service  of  utility  continually 
directs  activity  to  outward,  alien  things,  while,  with  all  the  sup- 
posed advantages,  the  self  is  left  inwardly  empty.  The  result  is 
a  sharp  contrast  between  a  noble  and  a  mean,  a  free  and  a  ser- 
vile, conduct  of  life.  It  is  the  business  of  a  free  and  large- 


S2  HELLENISM 

minded  man  everywhere  to  seek  beauty  rather  than  utility;  in- 
deed, from  this  point  of  view,  the  lack  of  any  useful  results  be- 
comes an  evidence  of  the  inner  worth  of  an  occupation.  Just 
this  forms  the  proud  boast  of  pure  philosophy,  that  it  offers  no 
advantage  whatever  for  the  material  life,  but  has  its  end  wholly 
within  itself.  Thus  we  see  that  Aristotle's  stronger  leaning 
toward  the  actual  world,  and  his  rejection  of  the  world  of 
Ideas,  have  by  no  means  sapped  the  power  of  ideal  feeling. 

(c)  The  Sphere  of  Human  Experience 

We  have  seen  that  human  life  must  find  its  tasks  and  its  re- 
wards exclusively  in  this  earthly  existence,  yet  also  that  this 
limitation  caused  no  serious  conflicts  for  Aristotle.  For  this 
life  affords  opportunity  for  the  full  employment  of  all  our  facul- 
ties, and  therefore  for  the  attainment  of  the  highest  happiness. 
Hence  there  remain  no  wishes  or  hopes  which  cannot  be  ful- 
filled; nor  is  any  need  of  individual  immortality  felt,  or  any 
impulse  to  cross  the  boundaries  of  existence  prescribed  by 
nature. 

It  thus  becomes  all  the  more  important  to  make  full  use  of 
this  present  life,  and  to  raise  it  to  the  highest  point  of  efficiency. 
With  this  in  view,  we  must  have  special  regard  to  our  pecu- 
liarly human  faculties,  and  determine  our  activity  accordingly. 
The  characteristic  faculty  of  man  is  reason,  which  means,  ac- 
cording to  Aristotle,  the  power  of  thought,  with  its  capacities  for 
forming  general  concepts  and  arriving  at  general  truths.  Intel- 
ligence must,  on  the  one  hand,  develop  itself,  and,  on  the  other, 
react  strongly  upon  those  lower  forms  of  mental  life  which  we 
possess  in  common  with  the  animals.  This  constitutes  our  life- 
work.  Activity  in  accordance  with  reason,  unobstructed  and 
extending  over  the  whole  of  life — not  for  a  short  time  only,  for 
one  swallow  does  not  make  a  spring — this  and  nothing  else  con- 
stitutes the  happiness  of  man. 

Possessed  of  such  a  conviction,  Aristotle  insists  strongly  upon 
filling  the  whole  of  life  with  strenuous  activity.  Even  excellence 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       53 

does  not  suffice,  unless  it  is  brought  into  exercise.  For  in  sleep 
we  experience  no  true  happiness;  nor  in  the  Olympic  games 
are  the  laurels  won  by  the  spectators,  but  by  those  who  take 
part  in  the  contest.  But  with  Aristotle  the  unfolding  of  the 
active  powers  encounters  no  great  obstacles.  The  soul  is  not 
estranged  from  itself,  nor  does  it  need  to  undergo  a  complete 
transformation,  as  with  Plato;  rather,  human  reason  is  merely 
undeveloped,  and  needs  only  to  rise  from  latent  capacity  to  a 
perfected  faculty,  while  natural  impulse  always  aims  at  the 
right  mark. 

Aristotle  is  unable  to  pursue  the  development  of  human  life 
further  without  investigating  more  closely  the  relation  of  the 
inner  motives  of  activity  to  the  external  surroundings  and  con- 
ditions. But  in  doing  so,  he  shows  the  influence  of  opposing 
tendencies.  On  the  one  hand,  the  close  connection  between  the 
inner  and  the  outer,  involved  in  his  view  of  the  world,  and  his 
dread  of  severing  the  bonds  which  unite  the  individual  to  kin- 
dred, friends,  and  countrymen,  forbid  a  complete  detachment 
of  activity  and  destiny  from  the  environment:  it  is  impossible  to 
withdraw  ourselves  from  what  there  takes  place  and  exerts  its 
influence  upon  us.  Tending  in  the  opposite  direction  is  Aris- 
totle's effort  to  make  conduct  as  independent  as  possible,  and  to 
exempt  it  from  the  contingencies  of  external  relations,  bondage 
to  which  throws  us  into  a  vacillation  incompatible  with  true 
happiness.  The  result  of  these  conflicting  tendencies  is  a  com- 
promise, whereby  the  main  thing  in  conduct  becomes  the  inner 
act,  the  power  and  capacity  of  the  agent,  while  its  complete  suc- 
cess depends  partly  upon  outward  circumstances.  Just  as  a 
drama  requires  a  scenic  mounting,  so  our  conduct  requires  for 
its  completion  embodiment  in  a  visible  performance,  presenta- 
tion upon  the  stage  of  life.  But  the  inner  act  remains  by  far  the 
chief  factor.  External  goods  serve  only  as  the  means  and  ex- 
pression of  action;  they  have  value  only  so  far  as  the  latter 
appropriates  and  uses  them;  beyond  this  limit  they  become  a 
useless  accessory,  indeed  an  impediment  to  life.  Hence  any 
effort  toward  the  unlimited  accumulation  of  external  goods 


54  HELLENISM 

must  be  emphatically  condemned.  For  it  is  possible  to  attain 
the  highest  happiness  with  only  moderate  means;  one  can  do 
what  is  beautiful,  i.  e.,  act  nobly,  without  ruling  over  land  and 
sea.  But  the  opposition  of  fortune  must  not  be  too  great.  Not 
only  are  certain  elementary  conditions,  such  as  a  normal  physi- 
cal stature,  health,  etc.,  essential  to  a  happy  life,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  overwhelming  adversity  can  destroy  it.  Yet  Aris- 
totle's calm  good  sense,  intent  upon  the  average  experience,  and 
less  concerned  for  the  destiny  of  the  race  than  for  the  welfare  of 
individuals,  is  not  deeply  agitated  over  the  possible  calamities. 
The  capable  man,  in  his  opinion,  can  face  the  battle  of  life  with 
a  stout  heart.  Our  mental  powers  are  quite  equal  to  the  ordi- 
nary evils.  The  heavy  blows  of  fortune,  such  as  befell  Priam, 
are  rare  exceptions;  but  even  they  cannot  make  the  noble  man 
miserable.  For  when  he  patiently  bears  the  heaviest  misfor- 
tunes, not  from  stupidity,  but  out  of  greatness  of  soul,  the  beauty 
of  his  spirit  shines  through  all  his  suffering.  Hence  all  the  disas- 
ters and  inequalities  of  life  do  not  shake  Aristotle's  faith  in  rea- 
son, nor  prevent  him  from  entering  confidently  upon  a  closer 
analysis  of  life's  scope  and  content. 

In  doing  this,  he  distinguishes  two  divergent  aims  in  life:  the 
development  of  the  mind  in  and  for  itself,  and  the  subjugation 
of  the  physical  nature,  or,  the  theoretical  and  the  practical 
lives,  as  he  terms  them. 

Of  these  two  lives,  Aristotle  accords  unqualified  pre-eminence 
to  the  theoretical.  It  makes  us  freer  from  outward  circum- 
stances and  more  self-reliant.  Then,  science  is  concerned  with 
the  universe  and  its  immutable  elements;  insight  can  here 
attain  a  stability  and  an  exactness  which  are  denied  to  the  prac- 
tical sphere  by  its  ceaseless  change.  Aristotle's  various  expres- 
sions on  this  point  culminate  in  the  view  that  the  acquiring  of 
knowledge  is  the  purest  form  of  a  large  and  self-sufficing  activ- 
ity, and  that  it  most  nearly  fulfils  the  conditions  demanded  by 
the  idea  of  happiness.  Hence  he  says  that  true  happiness  is  co- 
incident only  with  the  search  for  truth.  It  is  not  in  our  human 
capacity  that  we  have  a  share  in  it,  but  only  in  so  far  as  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       55 

divine  dwells  in  us;  and  this  indwelling  of  the  divine  constitutes 
the  only  human  immortality. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  practical  sphere  appears  at  first  at 
a  distinct  disadvantage;  its  one  problem  is  to  subject  the  natural 
impulses  to  the  mastery  of  the  intellect.  But  this  does  not 
mean  a  control  so  to  say  by  compulsion,  but  by  an  inward 
rationalising  of  the  man's  desires,  by  an  incorporation  of  reason 
into  the  individual  will;  thus  there  is  developed  the  conception 
of  moral  virtue,  of  a  certain  bearing  and  disposition  of  the 
whole  man;  at  the  same  time,  too,  an  inner  relation  of  man  to 
man.  Aristotle's  full  and  sympathetic  account  of  this  sphere 
readily  creates  the  impression  that  he  is  not  here  concerned  with 
some  lower  stage,  but  with  a  whole  realm,  indeed  with  the 
heart  of  life  itself. 

This  impression  is  created  in  particular  by  Aristotle's  treat- 
ment of  the  conception  which,  for  him,  dominates  the  whole  of 
the  practical  life,  the  conception,  namely,  of  the  Mean.  This 
conception  is  reached  by  a  simple  reflection.  If  the  physical  life 
is  to  be  subject  to  reason,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  reason  is 
to  be  exhibited  in  the  physical  life,  dangers  arising  from  two 
opposite  sources  must  be  avoided.  The  physical  life  may 
either  resist  the  sway  of  reason  with  unbridled  violence,  or  it 
may  prove  to  be  too  weak  and  meagre  to  afford  reason  the  nec- 
essary means  of  a  full  development.  Hence  the  just  mean  be- 
comes the  sum  of  practical  wisdom.  Moral  virtue  must  avoid 
both  a  too  much  and  a  too  little.  For  example,  the  brave  man 
occupies  the  mean  between  the  foolhardy  man  and  the  coward, 
the  thrifty  man  the  mean  between  the  spendthrift  and  the 
miser,  the  agreeable  man  the  mean  between  the  wag  and  the 
dullard.  In  this  doctrine  of  the  mean,  Aristotle  shows  himself 
to  be  in  close  touch  with  the  Greek  people,  his  full  descriptions 
often  appear  to  be  pictures  of  actual  life,  and  even  his  diction 
follows  the  vernacular.  At  the  same  time,  many  fundamental 
convictions  which  remind  us  of  Plato  pervade  his  work.  Thus, 
in  his  doctrine  of  the  mean,  Aristotle  expressly  appeals  to  the 
analogy  of  art,  whose  masterpieces  neither  permit  anything  to 


56  HELLENISM 

be  added  nor  to  be  taken  away.  Likewise,  the  ethical  idea  of 
justice  exerts  an  influence.  For  every  aim  within  the  system  of 
human  ends  should  receive  its  precise  due,  in  accordance  with 
the  individual  case;  any  departure  therefrom,  toward  the  more 
or  toward  the  less,  involves  an  injustice.  Even  if  Aristotle  sur- 
renders the  Platonic  idea  of  a  moral  order,  of  an  all-pervading 
universal  law  of  justice,  he  none  the  less  asserts  its  power  within 
the  sphere  of  human  conduct. 

The  demand  that  the  just  mean  be  followed  makes  conduct  vital 
rather  than  conventional.  What  the  just  mean  is  cannot  be 
settled  once  for  all,  owing  to  the  ceaseless  change  of  life's  condi- 
tions; nor  can  it  be  deduced  from  general  propositions;  on  the 
contrary,  it  must  be  freshly  determined  every  moment,  in  ac- 
cordance with  each  particular  situation.  This  requires,  above 
all,  accuracy  of  estimate,  an  unerring  tact.  Conduct  thus  be- 
comes the  Art  of  Life;  existence  is  every  moment  tense,  since 
the  good  helmsman  must  each  time  steer  his  way  between  Scylla 
and  Charybdis  with  the  same  care. 

Consequently,  the  just  mean  is  unattainable  unless  we  per- 
fectly comprehend  both  the  attendant  circumstances  and  our 
own  capacities.  To  avoid  undertaking  either  too  much  or  too 
little,  we  must  know  precisely  how  much  we  are  capable  of 
achieving;  we  must  not  only  be  efficient,  but  also  know  that  we 
are  so,  and  how  far  our  efficiency  extends.  We  should,  therefore, 
be  as  free  from  all  empty  vanity  and  idle  boasting  as  from 
faint-hearted  self-depreciation.  In  other  words,  a  just  self- 
consciousness  here  appears  indispensable  to  the  perfection 
of  life;  hence  self-knowledge  in  the  early  Greek  sense,  i.  «.,  a 
correct  estimate  of  one's  own  capacities,  in  distinction  from  a 
brooding  over  one's  inner  state,  attains  with  Aristotle  its  most 
important  philosophical  development. 

Thus,  the  principle  of  the  Mean  works  its  way  into  every 
ramification  of  life  and  adapts  itself  to  all  life's  varied  aspects. 
The  result  is  that  everywhere  intelligence  is  introduced  and 
action  subjected  to  thought.  As  a  further  consequence,  the  rela- 
tion of  instinct  to  reason  becomes  such  that  the  supremacy  of  the 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       57 

mind  is  preserved  without  violating  the  rights  of  the  natural 
disposition.  For  whatever  nature  has  implanted  in  man,  as, 
e.  g.,  self-love,  is  forthwith  accepted;  to  attempt  to  eradicate  it 
would  be  as  perverse  as  it  would  be  vain.  Yet  it  must  conform 
to  the  law  of  the  mean,  and  recognise  its  limit,  if  it  would  work 
in  harmony  with  reason;  and  for  that  mind  and  thought  are 
required.  Accordingly,  the  notion  of  the  Limit  signalises  a  tri- 
umph of  mind  over  crude  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  a  har- 
monious adjustment  between  true  nature  and  reason.  The 
Aristotelian  mean  is  not  an  endorsement  of  humdrum  mediocrity, 
which  shrinks  from  everything  great.  For  its  aim  is  not  to 
keep  everything  down  to  a  medium  level,  but  merely  to  preserve 
the  harmony  of  reason  and  nature  within  the  sphere  of  conduct. 
How  little  the  thought  of  the  mean  excludes  that  of  greatness 
appears  most  clearly  from  the  fact  that  Aristotle  finds  his  ideal  of 
human  life  in  the  high-minded  man  (/AeyaAxtyrv^o?) ,  and  bestows 
upon  the  delineation  of  his  character  the  most  sympathetic  care. 
The  high-minded  man  has  greatness  of  mind,  and  is  fully 
conscious  of  it.  He  represents  the  just  mean  between  the  man 
who  is  vain  of  his  capacities  and  the  one  who  has  a  certain 
greatness,  but  does  not  know  it,  and  hence  does  not  sufficiently 
develop  his  powers.  The  high-minded  man  is  not  only  fully 
conscious  of  his  own  importance,  but  will  everywhere  make  it 
emphatically  felt;  and  in  all  that  he  does  and  leaves  undone  he 
will,  above  all,  preserve  his  dignity  and  greatness  of  soul.  Pos- 
sessed of  such  a  disposition,  he  will  speak  only  the  plain  truth, 
love  openly  and  hate  openly,  be  free  from  all  fear  of  men,  accept 
favours  reluctantly,  and  return  those  received  in  superabundant 
measure,  gladly  confer  benefits  himself,  be  proud  and  reserved 
toward  the  great,  but  friendly  toward  those  beneath  him.  He 
will  always  esteem  beauty  above  utility  and  the  truth  above  ap- 
pearance. And  he  will  choose  for  himself  the  most  difficult  and 
the  most  thankless  of  tasks.  His  outward  demeanour  will  cor- 
respond with  such  a  disposition.  That  is,  he  will  always  conduct 
himself  with  composure  and  dignity,  speak  deliberately,  never 
be  precipitate,  etc. 


58  HELLENISM 

Although  there  is  much  in  such  a  picture  to  astonish  one,  it 
manifestly  represents  the  active  life  developed  into  a  rounded, 
self-sufficient  personality.  Whoever  expects  as  confidently  as 
Aristotle  does  that  happiness  will  be  found  in  a  calm,  self-con- 
tained activity,  cannot  make  the  effects  of  conduct  the  principal 
thing,  but  will  look  chiefly  to  the  state  of  the  agent  himself. 
And  in  truth,  it  is  the  inner  conditions  of  conduct  that  Aristotle 
investigates  with  particular  care.  Such  conceptions  as  those  of 
intention,  and  of  voluntary  and  involuntary  acts,  he  subjects  to 
searching  analysis,  and  gradually  shifts  the  centre  of  gravity 
from  the  outward  performance  to  the  inner  attitude  of  the 
agent.  Hence  the  notion  of  self-contained  conduct  deepens  into 
that  of  a  self-contained  life;  the  idea  of  moral  personality  de- 
taches itself  and  life  becomes  wholly  self-centred. 

True,  these  developments  are  left  by  Aristotle  largely  in  an 
unfinished  state.  The  majestic  personality  described  above  is 
primarily  an  affair  of  the  individual:  if  man  measures  himself 
less  by  an  ideal  of  reason  than  by  comparison  with  other  men, 
moral  worth  becomes  a  matter  of  individual  eminence  in  con- 
trast with  others.  Accordingly,  the  idea  of  personality  develops 
more  disintegrating  than  unifying  force.  Thus,  in  the  midst  of 
what  is  new,  we  discern  the  limitations  of  the  time. 

But  whatever  aims,  either  in  the  practical  or  the  theoretical 
sphere,  are  brought  to  light  by  Aristotle,  they  must  necessarily 
appear  as  attainable  to  such  an  exalted  faith  in  reason  as  his. 
He  is  not,  indeed,  unconscious  of  the  difficulties.  His  mind  is 
much  too  open  to  the  impressions  of  experience  to  see  nothing 
but  reason  everywhere.  And  his  judgment  of  mankind  is  too 
much  influenced  by  the  national  habits  of  thought  not  to  distin- 
guish two  classes,  a  large  majority  of  bad,  or  at  least  common- 
place, natures,  and  a  small  minority  of  noble  ones.  Men  are 
ruled  by  passion  and  appetite;  and  the  sense  of  the  masses  is 
not  for  the  noble  and  the  beautiful,  but  for  the  useful.  They  are 
brought  to  wrong-doing,  however,  mainly  by  inordinate  desire 
and  selfish  greed.  "Appetite  is  insatiable,  and  the  multitude 
live  only  to  gratify  it." 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       59 

But  Aristotle  does  not  so  lightly  deliver  up  the  human  sphere 
to  unreason;  rather,  he  finds  abundant  means  of  correcting  the 
above  impression.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  of  opinion  that  the 
evil  in  man  is  easily  exaggerated,  inasmuch  as  what  is  only  a 
consequence  of  natural  conditions  is  often  set  down  as  guilt. 
Thus,  e.  g.,  man  is  taxed  with  ingratitude,  because  the  recipi- 
ents of  favours  usually  manifest  less  feeling  than  those  who  be- 
stow them,  children  less  affection  than  their  parents,  etc., 
whereas  the  simple  explanation  is  that  giving  causes  more 
pleasure  than  receiving,  and  that  this  satisfaction  makes  the 
object  of  our  bounty  pleasing  to  us.  Then,  Aristotle  is  not 
ready  to  jumble  together  in  one  lot  all  the  less  capable  men; 
instead  he  distinguishes  several  degrees,  and  recognises  in  the 
highest  an  approach  to  the  ideal.  On  the  other  hand,  the  really 
vicious,  the  criminal,  are  to  be  excluded;  but  the  number  is  not 
large,  and  the  average  condition  represents  rather  venial  weak- 
ness than  positive  evil.  Furthermore,  there  exists  a  not  unim- 
portant difference  between  those  who  aim  at  gain  and  self- 
indulgence,  and  those  who  pursue  honour  and  power.  Particu- 
larly honour,  the  reflection  of  virtue,  lifts  conduct  to  a  higher 
plane.  But  even  the  residue  of  imperfection  is  exalted  in  Aris- 
totle's mind  by  the  conviction  that  also  in  the  lower  there  is  a 
natural  impulse  toward  the  higher,  an  impulse  that  carries  it 
beyond  its  present  condition  and  its  limited  consciousness;  for, 
"everything  has  by  nature  something  of  the  divine."  Associated 
with  this  tendency  to  see  in  the  lower  less  the  degenerate  and  the 
abandoned  than  what  is  struggling  upward  is  a  highly  character- 
istic belief  that  the  life  of  the  community  represents  a  summation 
of  reason.  Granted  that  the  average  man  individually  accom- 
plishes very  little :  yet  let  men  unite  themselves  into  a  commu- 
nity, and  they  become  as  one  personality;  the  good  in  all  can 
fuse  into  one,  and  the  whole  become  morally  and  intellectually 
superior  even  to  the  greatest  individuals.  Inasmuch,  namely, 
as  each  contributes  his  special  faculty,  and  the  various  capac- 
ities become  organised,  the  whole  which  results  is  freer  from 
anger  and  other  passions,  more  protected  against  blunders, 


60  HELLENISM 

and,  especially,  surer  in  its  judgment,  than  the  mere  indi- 
vidual. Even  with  music  and  poetry,  the  great  public  is  the 
best  judge.  In  making  such  an  apology  for  the  multitude, 
Aristotle  is  not  thinking  of  just  any  haphazard,  motley  public, 
but  of  the  more  stable  community  of  a  city  possessing  a  homo- 
geneous civilisation.  Yet  without  a  strong  belief  in  an  element 
of  good  in  men,  this  apology  would  not,  even  so,  have  been 
possible. 

Aristotle's  convictions  as  to  history  accord  excellently  with 
such  a  faith.  Their  basis  is  to  be  found  in  the  Platonic  philos- 
ophy of  history.  With  Aristotle,  as  with  Plato,  there  is  no  ascent 
ad  infinitum,  but  a  cycle  of  similar  periods.  Given  the  eternity 
of  the  world — which  Aristotle  was  the  first  to  teach  with  perfect 
distinctness — and  an  infinitude  lies  behind  us;  periodically, 
whatever  has  been  evolved  up  to  a  given  time  is  destroyed  by 
great  floods,  and  the  process  begins  over  again;  only  the  popu- 
lar religion  (rationalistically  interpreted)  and  language  unite 
the  several  epochs  by  transmitting,  at  least  in  remnants,  the 
wisdom  of  earlier  periods.  But  to  this  general  view  Aristotle 
adds  the  special  one,  that  in  classical  Greece  the  culmination  of 
such  a  revolution  had  been  reached  shortly  before.  Hence 
attention  should  be  concentrated  upon  it,  rather  than  upon  the 
future,  which  does  not  give  promise  of  great  progress.  Theo- 
retical investigation,  however,  has  assigned  to  it  the  task  of 
scientifically  probing  the  grounds  of  whatever  may  be  brought 
to  light  by  circumstance  and  custom,  and  so  of  translating  into 
concepts  the  actual  historical  world. 

Accordingly,  the  course  of  the  argument  justifies  Aristotle's 
own  attitude  toward  the  Greek  world.  If  in  the  civilisation  of 
Greece  the  highest  has  been  attained  that  ever  can  be,  then  the 
effort  to  seek  out  the  reason  immanent  in  it,  and,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible, to  make  it  the  point  of  departure  for  his  own  work,  is 
amply  justified.  Aristotle  is  thus  enabled  not  only  to  place  him- 
self in  a  sympathetic  attitude  toward  the  foundations  of  Greek 
civilisation,  but  also  to  esteem  public  opinion  as  a  sure  index 
to  the  truth. 


(d)  The  Several  Departments  of  Life 

The  several  departments  of  life  attain  with  Aristotle  a  far 
greater  independence,  and  they  offer  more  special  problems  and 
demand  more  work  than  with  Plato.  Here  the  particular  is 
not  a  mere  application,  but  a  further  development,  of  the  gen- 
eral. Life  reaches  out  in  all  directions;  and  since  its  span  cov- 
ers a  greater  area,  notwithstanding  its  ceaseless  movement  it 
gains  in  essential  repose.  The  vast  increase  of  detail  destroys 
neither  the  unity  of  the  whole  nor  the  dominance  of  certain  all- 
pervading  convictions;  for  however  much  the  leading  ideas 
adapt  themselves  to  the  peculiarities  of  the  several  spheres,  the 
bond  of  analogy  holds  all  together.  Everywhere  there  is  a  high 
estimate  placed  upon  activity,  everywhere  the  detection  of  an 
inner  reason,  everywhere  a  reconciliation  of  contradictions; 
everywhere,  too,  there  is  a  simple  objectivity,  a  nearer  approach 
to  the  immediate  life  of  the  soul,  and  a  greater  transparency  in 
the  articulation  of  the  system. 

(a)  THE  FORMS   OF  HUMAN  ASSOCIATION 

More  independent  and  richer  in  content  appears,  first,  the 
sphere  of  human  intercourse.  How  Aristotle  is  drawn  from  the 
universe  to  man  is  shown,  among  other  things,  by  his  judgment 
as  to  the  relative  value  of  the  senses.  Plato  and  the  other  Greek 
thinkers  had  declared  the  eye  to  be  the  most  important  sense, 
owing  to  its  perception  of  the  great  world;  and  Aristotle,  too, 
does  not  reject  this  estimate.  But,  on  more  careful  considera- 
tion, he  declares  the  ear  to  be  more  important  for  the  intellectual 
development,  on  account  of  its  relation  to  language  and  hence  to 
human  society.  Furthermore,  the  difference  between  human 
speech  and  the  sounds  made  by  animals  he  regards  as  an  evi- 
dence of  the  greater  intimacy  of  our  intercourse. 

Aristotle  displayed  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  differentiation 
of  human  life  and  action.  He  was  an  acute  observer  and  de- 


6a  HELLENISM 

lineator  of  the  various  types  of  human  nature,  and  his  school  in- 
troduced descriptions  of  the  several  "characters."  Likewise, 
his  followers  were  only  imitating  the  effort  of  the  master  when 
they  devoted  special  attention  to  the  virtues  of  social  life. 
Finally,  the  higher  estimate  which  Aristotle  placed  upon  man  and 
upon  human  society  is  closely  connected  with  the  careful  con- 
sideration of  history  which  distinguished  him.  The  achieve- 
ments of  his  predecessors  were  kept  constantly  in  view  in  his 
own  studies,  and  it  was  from  his  school  that  the  history  of  phil- 
osophy sprang. 

But  the  fullest  development  of  human  life  still  leaves  the 
main  structure  of  society  simple  enough.  Two  principal  forms 
comprise  the  whole:  the  relation  of  friendship,  and  life  in  the 
State,  the  one  covering  the  personal  relations  of  individuals  and 
the  other  the  wider  human  intercourse  and  the  organisation  of 
intellectual  work. 

Friendship  has  an  incomparable  worth  for  Aristotle  because, 
first  of  all,  after  the  surrender  of  religion,  it  alone  affords  a 
richer  development  of  the  life  of  sentiment,  and  scope  for  the 
full  realisation  of  individuality.  "A  life  without  friends  no  one 
would  desire,  even  though  he  possessed  all  other  goods." 

Friendship  in  the  sense  of  Aristotle,  however,  means  the  asso- 
ciation with  another  man — his  thought  is  particularly  of  one 
friend — in  a  steadfast  community  of  life  and  conduct,  and  with 
such  a  complete  reception  of  the  other  into  one's  own  world  of 
thought,  as  to  gain  in  him  another  "self."  Friendship  is  here 
no  mere  affinity  of  minds,  but  a  union  of  the  conduct  and  effec- 
tive work  of  both;  even  in  this  case  everything  depends  upon 
activity,  the  state  of  feeling  being  always  closely  connected  with 
and  determined  by  it.  Hence  the  interest  lies  beyond  the  dis- 
position and  in  the  achievement,  and  friendship  grows  with  the 
greatness  of  the  man.  The  aim  is  to  interchange  the  fruits  of 
corresponding  attainments,  and  so  to  keep  pace  in  a  noble  rivalry. 
Thus  friendship  merges  into  the  idea  of  justice.  There  is  here 
no  place  for  a  forgetting  of  self  and  a  naive  devotion,  for  an  un- 
merited and  immeasurable  love.  The  Aristotelian  friendship  is 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       63 

no  liberation  from  self,  but  a  widening  of  self.  For  it  is  rooted 
in  a  genuine  self-love,  in  a  friendship  of  man  with  his  own  being. 
Just  as  only  the  virtuous  man  is  at  one  with  himself  in  all  that 
he  does,  or  is  a  good  friend  to  himself,  so  only  he  can  show  true 
and  lasting  friendship.  And  friendship  enhances  happiness, 
since  not  only  is  one's  activity  increased,  but  the  friend's  noble 
deeds  are  more  visible  than  one's  own. 

As  this  conception  of  friendship  involves  harmony  of  action, 
and  indeed,  of  regulated,  visible  action,  so  it  allows  of  a  full  jus- 
tification of  family  life  with  its  fixed  limits.  On  the  other  hand, 
compared  with  the  relation  of  friendship,  the  idea  of  humanity 
is  much  too  shadowy  to  exert  an  influence  upon  life.  True,  we 
are  told  that  every  man  feels  the  bond  of  man  to  man,  that  we 
have  a  natural  inclination  to  help  one  another,  and  desire  com- 
panionship even  without  any  thought  of  advantage;  but  all  that 
remains  in  the  background,  and  leads  to  no  fixed  relationship, 
no  community  of  work.  It  is  the  smaller,  more  easily  surveyed, 
groups  that  engross  men's  attention;  seldom  does  the  glance 
extend  beyond  one's  own  nation.  The  Greek  people,  however, 
with  their  union  of  the  courage  of  the  European  and  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  Asiatic  nations,  appear  to  be  the  flower  of  the  race. 
United  in  a  single  state,  they  could  rule  the  world. 

But  this  thought  of  a  universal  empire  ruled  by  the  Greeks — 
noteworthy  enough  in  the  tutor  of  Alexander — is  not  further 
pursued;  rather,  the  chief  form  of  human  association  remains 
for  Aristotle  the  single  Greek  state,  the  city-state  with  its  lim- 
ited territory,  its  fixed  summary  of  all  human  problems,  and 
its  close  personal  union  of  the  individual  citizens.  Nowhere 
more  than  here,  where  its  glory  already  lay  behind  it,  is  this  city- 
state  illuminated  and  glorified  by  theory.  In  defence  of  its  nar- 
row limits,  Aristotle  urges  that  a  proper  community  is  possible 
only  where  the  citizens  can  form  a  judgment  of  one  another; 
but  the  deeper  reason  lay  in  the  fact  that  only  a  circumscribed 
community,  inseparably  uniting  all  intellectual  aims  with  actual 
companionship,  could  become  a  personality  after  the  manner  of 
the  individual.  That  the  state  should  have  such  a  personal 


64  HELLENISM 

nature  is,  however,  the  essence  of  the  Aristotelian  doctrine. 
From  this  conviction,  we  have  the  direct  corollary  that  the  ends 
of  both  state  and  individual  are  identical,  and  that  there  is  the 
closest  connection  between  ethics  and  politics.  If  the  highest 
good  of  man  is  a  self-contained,  self-sufficing  completeness  of 
activity,  the  state  should  seek  its  welfare  in  nothing  else.  There 
follows  the  most  emphatic  disapproval  of  all  aggressive  foreign 
politics,  all  greed  for  unlimited  expansion,  all  wars  for  conquest, 
etc.  Instead  of  pursuing  such  a  course,  let  the  state  find  its 
tasks  in  peaceful  activities,  in  the  development  and  organisa- 
tion of  the  capabilities  of  its  citizens  into  a  compact,  vigorous 
society. 

Rational  activity  here  implies,  above  all,  the  mental  and  moral 
efficiency  of  the  state  and  of  its  individual  members;  hence  the 
chief  effort  must  be  directed  to  spiritual  ends.  Even  under  the 
conditions  of  life  in  common,  material  goods  have  a  value  only 
as  a  means  to  activity,  and  they  should  be  kept  well  within  the 
implied  limits.  For  the  most  serious  disturbances  arise  from 
the  importunate  demands  of  the  multitude  for  the  unrestricted 
accumulation  of  property  and  riches.  Moreover,  the  delusive 
expectation  that  happiness  can  be  found  in  worldly  possessions 
is  disastrously  increased  by  the  introduction  of  money  with  the 
opportunity  it  offers  for  unlimited  hoarding;  for  the  lust  for 
material  wealth  then  possesses  men  more  exclusively  than  ever. 
Hence,  uncompromising  war  must  be  waged  against  it,  even  on 
the  part  of  the  civic  community,  whose  duty  it  is  to  keep  the 
citizens'  thirst  for  gain  within  reasonable  bounds,  and  particu- 
larly to  oppose  the  dominion  of  money.  In  this  spirit,  all  profit 
from  the  loaning  of  money  is  condemned,  every  form  of  interest 
declared  to  be  usury,  and  in  general  this  whole  inversion  of 
means  and  end  stigmatised  as  immoral.  Thus  we  have  the 
foundation  of  the  distinctly  ethical  type  of  political  economy, 
which  dominated  economic  theory  during  the  Middle  Ages 
and  also  profoundly  influenced  practice.  With  Aristotle  the 
two  presuppositions  of  this  doctrine  are  clear:  an  exact  limita- 
tion of  material  goods  by  a  fixed  and  easily  recognisable  end  in 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       65 

life,  and  a  complete  correspondence  between  the  welfare  of  the 
community  and  that  of  the  individual. 

If,  however,  the  individual  is  but  a  miniature  of  the  state, 
then  in  their  reciprocal  relations  the  unqualified  supremacy  be- 
longs to  the  latter.  As  a  fact,  Aristotle  defends  the  complete 
subjection  of  the  individual:  he  reduced  this  subordination  to 
formulas  which  have  been  handed  down  throughout  the  whole 
course  of  history  as  a  classical  expression  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
omnipotence  of  the  state.  The  state  he  calls  the  self-sufficient 
community;  only  in  it  can  man  realise  his  rational  nature; 
accordingly,  he  says  of  it  that  it  was  prior  (i.  e.,  in  its  nature  and 
conception  prior)  to  man. 

For  the  illustration  of  his  doctrine  of  the  state,  Aristotle  is  fond 
of  employing  the  metaphor  of  an  organism;  for  he  it  was  who 
introduced  this  conception  into  political  theory.  As,  in  the  case 
of  an  organism,  any  single  organ  lives  and  performs  its  function 
only  in  connection  with  the  whole,  but  so  soon  as  it  is  severed 
from  the  whole,  becomes  dead  matter,  so  it  is  with  the  relation 
of  the  individual  to  the  state.  Yet  this  theory  appears  to  be  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  allow  the  powerful  development  within  the 
whole  of  the  peculiar  capabilities  and  effective  activity  of  indi- 
viduals. 

An  organism,  namely,  is  viewed  as  the  higher  or  more  per- 
fect the  greater  its  articulation,  or  differentiation  of  functions 
and  organs.  So,  likewise  in  the  state  there  should  be  the  great- 
est possible  division  of  labour.  This  conviction,  enforced  by 
Aristotle's  keen  observation  and  sober  judgment,  resulted  in  a 
decisive  rejection  of  communistic  theories.  Work  is  well  exe- 
cuted only  when  it  is  carefully  organised;  and  the  strongest 
motives  to  care  and  devotion  arise  from  man's  ownership  of 
property  and  from  his  personal  associations;  for  it  gives  him  an 
unspeakable  pleasure  to  call  something  his  own.  Moreover,  the 
adherents  of  communism  are  the  victims  of  an  optimistic  delu- 
sion when  they  expect  from  the  mere  community  of  property  a 
harmony  of  all  wills  and  the  disappearance  of  crime.  For  the 
chief  root  of  evil  is  not  poverty,  but  the  love  of  pleasure  and  in- 


66  HELLENISM 

satiable  cupidity:  "one  does  not  become  a  tyrant  merely  to 
escape  the  cold." 

The  idea  of  an  organism  in  its  ancient  interpretation  not  only 
enhances  the  importance  of  the  individual,  but  it  effects  also  a 
thorough  animation  of  the  whole;  it  does  not  look  upon  the 
state  as  an  artificial  mechanism  directed  by  superior  insight, 
but  as  a  living  being  sustained  by  its  own  powers.  Hence  it  is 
essential  to  gain  the  loyal  adherence  of  the  citizens  to  the  con- 
stitution of  the  state,  and  to  give  them  all  some  share  in  political 
work.  This,  together  with  his  view  of  the  summation  of  reason 
in  the  state,  makes  Aristotle  an  advocate  of  democracy — to  be 
sure,  a  democracy  which  is  considerably  limited  in  being  worked 
out.  At  the  same  time,  in  direct  opposition  to  Plato,  he  sets  the 
universal  order  above  even  the  most  eminent  personality: 
"Whoever  lets  law  rule,  lets  God  and  reason  rule  alone;  who- 
ever lets  man  rule,  lets  the  animal  in  him  rule  too." 

The  total  effect  of  Aristotle's  discussion  of  political  questions 
far  exceeds  the  influence  of  his  particular  theory  of  the  state. 
Himself  expatriated,  his  clear  vision  and  calm  judgment  none 
the  less  so  penetrated  into  the  peculiar  character  of  this  domain, 
and  his  thinking  developed  so  purely  the  inner  necessity  of  things, 
that  his  work  forms  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  political  wisdom. 
The  immense  material  that  accumulated  he  subdued  by  means 
of  simple  concepts  and  analyses;  ideals  he  energetically  upheld, 
but  they  do  not  interfere  with  the  due  appreciation  of  real,  and 
particularly  of  economic,  conditions;  the  manifold  conflicting 
interests  are  weighed  in  the  balance  with  painstaking  conscien- 
tiousness and  without  feeble  compromises;  the  political  view 
attains  the  closest  relation  to  history,  and  accordingly  becomes 
more  elastic  and  fruitful;  the  significance  of  the  living  present, 
the  right  of  the  existing  state  of  things,  meets  with  full  recogni- 
tion. But  the  insight  and  sagacity  of  Aristotle's  political  views 
are  equalled  by  his  strong  sense  of  justice  and  truth;  everything 
that  dazzles  without  being  instructive,  and,  especially,  whatever 
tends  toward  individual  advantage  at  the  expense  of  others,  he 
decisively  rejects.  Characterised  by  such  a  union  of  technical 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       67 

greatness  and  ethical  purpose,  Aristotle's  politics,  notwith- 
standing all  that  is  problematic  in  its  detailed  execution,  re- 
mains a  wonderful  masterpiece. 

(/3)   ART 

Although  his  doctrines  are  in  all  essential  points  an  echo  of 
Plato's  aesthetic  views,  Aristotle  himself  lacks  an  intimate  per- 
sonal relation  to  art.  But  his  objective  method  again  affords  him 
such  a  clear  insight  into  the  nature  of  his  subject  that  he  is  not 
only  successful  in  elucidating  a  variety  of  particular  points,  but 
also  is  the  first  to  formulate  the  main  principles  of  art.  Like 
Plato,  he  understands  art  to  be  an  imitation  of  reality.  How- 
ever, he  does  not  find  the  subject  of  imitation  in  the  several 
accidental,  changeable  features,  but  in  the  universal  and  typical 
aspect  of  things.  The  artist  is  not  concerned  with  what  happens 
at  any  particular  moment,  but  with  what  happens  always  or 
usually.  Hence  Aristotle  claims  that  poetry  is  more  philosoph- 
ical and  richer  in  content  than  history,  that  Homer  stands  above 
Herodotus.  The  revelation  of  a  new  world,  wherein  the  creative 
fantasy  comes  to  its  full  rights,  is  still  far  distant;  but  art 
here  acquires  a  spiritual  worth  and  has  a  specific  task  assigned 
to  it.  Aristotle,  however,  turns  rapidly  from  general  consider- 
ations to  the  particular  arts;  and  of  these  he  lays  bare  the 
psychological  motives  and  follows  out  their  effects  with  mar- 
vellous insight  and  clearness.  The  copestone  of  his  aesthetic 
theory  is  provided  by  the  doctrine  of  tragedy,  which  has  exerted 
the  profoundest  influence  even  in  modern  times.  And  it  has  a 
particular  value  for  our  present  consideration,  since  tragedy  im- 
plies both  a  comprehensive  view  and  a  creed  of  human  life. 
Aristotle's  doctrine  of  tragedy,  however,  is  seen  in  its  true 
light,  not  when  it  is  understood  as  a  product  of  free  reflection, 
but  when  it  is  taken  as  a  translation  into  concepts  and  laws  of 
the  actual  achievements  of  the  Greek  drama.  Here  again  the 
thinker's  attitude  is  altogether  retrospective;  he  does  not  offer 
new  suggestions,  but  seeks  out  the  rationale  of  the  great  works 


68  HELLENISM 

of  the  past.  He  finds  that  the  problem  of  tragedy  does  not  lie  so 
much  within  man  himself  as  in  his  relation  to  the  world;  not  in 
the  complications  and  contradictions  of  his  own  being,  but  in 
the  conflict  with  the  world:  it  is  the  incongruity  between  inner 
guflt  and  outward  prosperity  which  arouses  the  tragic  sympa- 
thies. In  accordance  with  such  a  fundamental  view,  the  action 
must  possess  more  unity,  coherence,  and  brevity  than  in  the 
modern  drama  with  its  inner  conflicts  and  spiritual  struggles. 
For,  when  it  is  not  concerned  with  inner  changes,  but  with  the 
essentially  fixed  character  of  a  man  who  is  in  direct  conflict  with 
destiny,  the  plot  will  appear  to  be  the  more  happy  in  proportion 
as  everything  rushes  swiftly  to  the  d&nouement.  Hence  the  doc- 
trine of  the  three  unities  of  Time,  Place,  and  Action  could  claim 
Aristotle's  authority,  although  not  without  a  forced  interpreta- 
tion of  the  master's  teaching. 

Likewise,  in  considering  the  effect  of  tragedy,  we  must  avoid 
any  intrusion  of  modern  thoughts  and  feelings.  Aristotle  does 
not  speak  of  the  purging  of  the  whole  soul,  but  of  the  exercising 
of  the  emotions  of  pity  and  fear.  What  he  expected  from  their 
exercise  is  still  a  moot  question,  upon  which  we  will  not  enter. 
Plainly,  however,  what  Aristotle  seeks  is  the  effect  upon  indi- 
viduals of  a  concrete,  personal  situation;  i.  e.,  he  means  to  have 
characters  and  fortunes  represented  which  will  affect  every  one 
directly  with  pity  and  fear.  Corresponding  rules  and  limita- 
tions follow.  The  desired  end  seems  to  be  most  readily  attain- 
able by  the  introduction  of  great  reverses  of  fortune,  especially 
a  reverse  from  happiness  to  misery,  provided  it  befall  a  man 
who  has  not  removed  himself  from  our  sympathies  by  unnatural  or 
extraordinary  deeds,  nor  met  with  his  misfortunes  so  much  from 
depravity  as  from  pardonable  error.  Thus  the  thought  of  the 
Mean,  the  Limit,  appears  here  also,  and  not  without  a  tendency 
to  substitute  the  average  man  for  all  men.  Accordingly,  the  heights 
as  well  as  the  depths  of  human  conduct  are  excluded.  The  sobriety 
of  Aristotle's  theory  would  be  more  distinctly  felt  if  every  one  did 
not  unconsciously  supplement  it  from  the  very  masterpieces  from 
which  it  drew,  yet  without  exhausting  their  whole  depths. 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       69 

In  this  domain,  also,  Aristotle's  handling  of  his  subject  exerts 
an  influence  which  far  exceeds  that  of  his  conceptions  and 
rules;  clear,  comprehensive,  and  objective,  his  method  pro- 
duces results  of  permanent  value. 

(7)  SCIENCE 

In  science  we  reach  the  culmination  of  Aristotle's  life-work. 
The  high  estimate  which  he  places  upon  theory  is  fully  matched 
by  his  actual  achievement.  He  appears  at  first  to  follow  an  en- 
tirely different  course  from  that  of  his  great  predecessor.  In- 
tuition yields  to  discussion  and  the  explanation  of  things  by 
causes;  analysis  comes  to  the  fore;  minutiae  find  sympathetic 
consideration;  the  several  theoretical  disciplines  attain  their 
first  independence.  Moreover,  emotion  disappears  from  scien- 
tific investigation,  which  no  longer  deeply  involves  the  thinker's 
practical  nature;  instead,  research  means  a  calm  examination 
of  the  object  and  a  clear  unfolding  of  its  nature;  and  by  ex- 
tending this  effort  to  the  whole  of  the  actual  world,  investigation 
becomes  synonymous  with  painstaking,  inquisitive,  unwearying 
intellectual  toil.  It  is  with  this  severance  from  immediate  feeling 
that  science  first  acquires  a  technical  form  and  its  own  nomen- 
clature. While  Plato  felt  the  unyielding  terms  borrowed  from  art 
as  a  restriction  upon  the  free  movement  of  his  thought,  Aristotle 
became  the  creator  of  scientific  terminology.  The  Aristotelian 
"science"  is  accordingly  far  more  like  science  in  the  modern 
sense.  It  can  embrace  the  whole  sphere  of  human  experience, 
and  it  produces  a  characteristic  type  of  life,  the  life  of  research. 

But,  notwithstanding  this  progress,  Aristotle  remains  in  close 
relation  to  Plato  and  the  classical  Greek  world.  Even  the  Aris- 
totelian method  of  research  presupposes  intuitive  truths;  the 
growth  of  analysis  does  not  endanger  the  supremacy  of  synthe- 
sis, since  all  the  elements  obtained  belong  from  the  outset  to  a 
whole;  nor  does  the  development  of  separate  disciplines  destroy 
the  firm  coherence  of  a  system.  In  particular,  the  relation  of 
man  to  the  world  of  things  is  not  so  changed  as  might  appear 


70  HELLENISM 

at  first  sight.  For,  even  if  Aristotle  restrains  subjective  feeling, 
and  subordinates  it  to  the  necessity  of  the  objective  fact,  the 
conception  of  the  objective  fact  is  itself  formed  under  human 
influence.  With  his  translation  of  reality  into  forces,  tenden- 
cies, capacities,  and  ends,  he,  too,  is  guilty  of  a  personification 
(although  a  slight  one),  and  a  personification  which  is  the  more 
dangerous,  since  it  easily  escapes  notice  and  conceals  its  own 
presuppositions.  Aristotle's  conceptions  of  the  world,  in  fact, 
all  suffer  from  a  confusion  of  the  psychical  and  the  material, 
i.  e.,  from  a  hidden  metaphor.  And  the  effect  was  only  the  more 
disastrous  the  deeper  his  untiring  energy  implanted  his  leading 
ideas  into  the  world  of  facts.  Thus  the  rise  of  modern  science 
was  not  possible  without  the  destruction  of  the  Aristotelian 
world  of  thought. 

In  truth,  Aristotle's  incontestable  greatness  lies  less  in  the 
investigation  of  principles  than  in  the  extensive  contact  between 
his  general  ideas  and  the  wealth  of  his  observation:  to  develop 
the  common  factors  in  such  contact,  to  reduce  to  scientific 
knowledge  an  inexhaustible  material  by  the  introduction  of 
fruitful  ideas — this  constitutes  his  incomparable  strength. 
Here  he  appears  pre-eminently  as  "the  master  of  those  who 
know"  (Dante). 

The  development  of  this  capacity  enables  him  to  wander 
through  the  whole  realm  of  knowledge,  and  everywhere  he  is 
fruitful,  systematic,  and  masterful.  Constantly  we  marvel  at  the 
even  balance  of  his  interest  in  the  universal  and  in  the  particu- 
lar; this  leads  him  at  one  time  to  extol  pure  speculation  as  the 
glory  of  life,  the  perfection  of  happiness;  and  at  another  it 
makes  him  an  enthusiastic  friend  of  natural  science,  and  leads 
him  to  quote  (apropos  of  the  attacks  upon  anatomical  study, 
which  were  still  frequent)  the  saying  of  Heraclitus:  "Enter; 
here,  too,  there  are  gods." 

Possessed  of  such  qualities,  Aristotle  was  the  first  to  discover 
the  dements  and  principal  functions  of  human  knowledge,  and 
to  create  a  system  of  logic  that  has  reigned  for  centuries;  he 
first  freed  from  obscurities  such  fundamental  concepts  as  time 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       71 

and  space,  motion  and  end;  he  led  thought  from  the  structure 
of  the  universe  as  a  whole  through  all  the  gradations  of  nature 
up  to  the  level  of  organic  life,  which  also  marks  the  culmination 
of  his  own  research;  he  sketched  the  first  system  of  psychology; 
he  traced  human  life  and  conduct  both  in  the  ethical  and  political 
spheres  and  in  those  of  oratory  and  art;  and  everywhere  he  was 
intent  upon  incorporating  into  his  work  the  experience  and  the 
total  achievement  of  his  people.  But  above  all  the  separate  dis- 
ciplines rises  the  metaphysics,  the  earliest  systematic  science  of 
first  principles;  this  sketched  in  pure  concepts  a  great  outline  of 
reality,  the  historical  influence  of  which  contributed  much 
toward  winning  a  secure  position  for  dialectic,  and  toward  ele- 
vating the  whole  of  life  to  the  plane  of  reflection. 

The  net  result  of  this  herculean  task  may  easily  be  criticised. 
Even  Aristotle  was  a  child  of  his  time;  and  it  was  inevitable  that 
in  the  then  incomplete  state  of  knowledge  his  indefatigable  pur- 
suit of  a  final,  closed  system  should  have  had  a  disastrous  effect. 
For  the  extraordinary  logical  power  with  which  in  several  de- 
partments an  insufficient  material  is  spun  out  and  woven  to- 
gether often  results  in  the  vindication  of  error  instead  of  truth. 
But  Aristotle,  indeed,  could  not  foresee  what  would  come  after 
him,  and  thus  keep  his  world  of  thought  open  for  a  distant 
future.  Any  impartial  estimate  of  him  must  concede  his  tower- 
ing eminence;  and  particularly  such  a  review  as  the  present 
owes  him  gratitude  and  reverence  for  having  revealed  to  man- 
kind whole  domains  of  the  actual  world,  and  for  proving  himself 
a  triumphant  creator  of  intellectual  life. 

(e)  Retrospect 

A  just  estimate  of  Aristotle  rests  primarily  upon  a  clear  con- 
ception of  his  relation  to  Hellenism.  No  longer  a  participant  in 
the  movements  of  the  classical  period,  but  an  observer  from  a 
distance  of  its  achievements,  his  intimate  relation  with  the  char- 
acteristic civilisation  of  Greece  has  often  failed  of  recognition; 
and,  as  a  thinker  who  translated  into  concepts  and  traced  back 


72  HELLENISM 

to  causes  the  vast  information  he  amassed,  he  has  too  often  been 
set  down  as  a  philosopher  of  the  most  abstract  type. 

That,  notwithstanding  the  developed  technique  of  his  investi- 
gations, and  the  elaborate  logic  of  his  treatises,  his  doctrines  and 
conceptions,  and  his  own  personality,  are  firmly  rooted  in 
classical  Greek  soil,  was  shown  even  by  the  consideration  of  his 
view  of  life.  For,  as  surely  as  this  revealed  a  powerful  capacity 
for  independent  thought,  it  also  showed  that  Aristotle's  thinking 
kept  steadily  in  close  touch  with  the  Greek  world,  in  fact  was 
permeated  with  the  fundamental  views  of  his  people.  Cut  off 
from  Hellenism,  his  personality  loses  all  that  is  most  character- 
istic of  it;  for  to  this  relation  he  owes  at  once  his  peculiar  great- 
ness and  his  limitations. 

But,  notwithstanding  this  intimate  relation  with  his  environ- 
ment, it  is  possible  to  distinguish  a  characteristic  Aristotelian 
type  of  life.  By  the  force  of  manly  strength,  trained  efficiency, 
and  simple  veracity,  knowledge  and  action  here  fuse  into  an  all- 
absorbing  life-work,  and  give  a  secure  foothold  in  the  actual 
world.  Scientific  investigation,  by  advancing  from  appearance 
to  reality,  makes  the  surrounding  world  incomparably  more  sig- 
nificant; to  an  instructed  vision  things  reveal,  even  when  in  ap- 
parent inaction,  a  life  of  their  own,  a  life  regulated  according  to 
ends,  self-contained  and  self-sufficing.  At  the  same  time,  the 
world  resolves  itself  into  a  profusion  of  varied  forms,  possessing 
interest  alike  for  science  and  for  practical  life.  To  comprehend, 
and  to  unite  into  the  harmony  of  a  cosmos,  this  far  more  living 
and  richer  world,  is  the  chief  task  of  the  life  of  research.  Thus 
the  world  acquires  stability,  life  becomes  calm,  and  every  form  of 
well-being  is  expected  to  result  from  assiduous  labour  and  steady 
development.  Aristotle,  accordingly,  is  the  first  of  the  line  of  think- 
ers who  look  upon  life  and  the  world  as  a  continuous  process. 

The  contention  that  Aristotle's  unquestionable  greatness  lies 
less  in  the  inner  unity  of  his  view  of  the  world  and  of  life  than  in 
his  subjugation  of  vast  domains  of  knowledge  by  means  of  sim- 
ple and  fruitful  ideas  is  further  corroborated  by  the  influence 
which  he  has  exerted  upon  history.  For  Aristotelianism  never 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD       73 

has  led  a  progressive  movement  of  thought,  nor  even  afforded  to 
any  a  powerful  stimulus.  But  it  has  always  proved  to  be  valuable, 
in  fact,  indispensable,  whenever  existing  bodies  of  thought  re- 
quired extension,  logical  arrangement,  and  systematic  comple- 
tion. This  was  shown  in  later  antiquity  in  its  influence  upon  the 
work  of  the  compilers;  so,  too,  Christianity,  although  at  first 
unfriendly  toward  Aristotle,  eagerly  turned  to  him  so  soon  as 
the  immediate  excitement  was  allayed  and  the  time  came  for 
thinking  out  the  new  ideas;  so,  finally,  he  became  the  chief 
philosopher  of  the  mediaeval  Church  with  its  rigid  organisation 
of  thought  and  life.  But  also  in  modern  times,  systematic 
thinkers  of  the  highest  rank,  such  as  Leibniz  and  Hegel,  have 
placed  the  very  highest  estimate  upon  his  services  to  the  history 
of  thought.  In  short,  wherever  Aristotelianism  has  attained  an 
influence  it  has  operated  to  further  logical  training,  to  promote 
the  formation  of  great  systems,  and  the  establishment  of  a  secure 
foundation  for  the  whole  work  of  civilisation.  Without  its  edu- 
cative and  organising  influence,  modern  science  and  culture,  no 
less  than  the  ancient,  are  unthinkable. 

Undeniably,  this  service  has  often  been  dearly  bought.  In 
times  of  less  intellectual  tension,  the  sheer  weight  and  compact- 
ness of  the  Aristotelian  system  tended  to  repress  independence 
of  thought;  it  often  seemed  as  if  nothing  new  could  challenge  its 
firmly  rooted  authority.  That,  however,  was  less  the  fault  of  the 
master  than  of  his  followers,  who  possessed  no  independence  to 
oppose  to  him. 

Quite  incontestable,  on  the  other  hand,  are  Aristotle's  great- 
ness and  beneficial  influence  in  the  various  departments  of 
knowledge  and  of  life.  Here  he  left  deeper  traces  than  any  other 
thinker  in  the  whole  course  of  history.  In  the  most  essential 
points  he  was  the  first  to  direct  effort  into  sure  channels;  hence, 
without  a  due  appreciation  of  his  life-work  no  historical  com- 
prehension of  our  own  world  of  thought  is  possible. 

It  was  of  the  greatest  consequence  for  classical  antiquity  that 
the  epoch-making  genius  of  Plato  was  followed  by  the  executive 


74  HELLENISM 

genius  of  Aristotle;  that  the  comprehensive,  clear-sighted,  la- 
borious mind  of  the  one  took  up  and  carried  forward  the  bold 
creative  work  of  the  other.  Hence,  on  the  one  hand,  there  was 
unfolded  in  its  purity  whatever.the  culture  of  classical  antiquity 
had  to  contribute  to  the  deepest  things  in  life;  and,  on  the  other, 
the  desire  for  knowledge  wrought  itself  out  into  a  gigantic  intel- 
lectual achievement.  Thus,  the  two  principal  manifestations  of 
an  ideal  view  of  the  world  and  an  ideal  feeling  for  life,  namely, 
the  striving  beyond  the  world,  and  back  to  the  world,  found  in 
Plato  and  Aristotle  respectively  embodiments  of  such  importance 
that  they  may  be  regarded  as  typical. 

By  philosophy  Greek  civilisation  itself  is  freed  from  the  con- 
tingency inherent  in  historical  development  and  its  innermost 
essence  illuminated  and  made  more  accessible  to  mankind.  Its 
aims  and  achievements  are  appropriated  by  the  work  of  thought 
in  a  purified  and  ennobled  form,  and  given  permanent  efficacy. 
Out  of  this  appropriating  and  refining  arises  an  ideal  of  intel- 
lectual power  and  of  constructive  work  which  unites  the  true 
and  the  beautiful,  science  and  art,  in  a  remarkably  perfect  man- 
ner. And  this  creative  activity  is  not  divorced  from  moral  char- 
acter, as  it  often  is  in  later  times,  but  combined  with  nobility  of 
personal  disposition,  and  a  plain  faith  in  the  dignity  of  good- 
ness. For  the  rest,  this  ideal  of  life  includes  contradictions  which 
later  clash  violently.  While  it  displays  a  frank  confidence  in  our 
intellectual  capacity,  and  in  the  victory  of  courageous  action,  this 
bouyancy  does  not  overleap  itself  in  presumptuous  self-assertion ; 
on  the  contrary,  man  here  recognises  that  he  is  subject  to  a  higher 
order,  and  willingly  acquiesces  in  the  prescribed  limits.  Again, 
he  is  summoned  to  supreme  effort  and  to  ceaseless  activity,  but 
the  activity  attains  at  its  height  a  self-poise  which  protects  him 
from  the  daily  turmoil  and  sheds  a  pure  joy  over  existence. 
Everywhere  there  should  be  system  and  organisation,  nothing 
should  be  isolated,  nothing  dissipate  itself;  yet  the  organised 
systems  do  not  repress  or  destroy  individuality,  but  give  it  a 
more  secure  place  and  a  higher  worth  within  the  whole. 

This  union  of  all  the  principal  tendencies  and  contrasts  of 


THINKERS  OF  THE  CLASSICAL  PERIOD        75 

life  in  a  readily  intelligible  whole  makes  the  view  of  life  of  the 
classical  thinkers  incomparable  and  irreplaceable.  For  the 
progress  of  civilisation  has  steadily  dispersed  the  forces  of  life, 
steadily  increased  the  outward  obstacles,  the  inner  complica- 
tions, and  the  sharpness  of  contrasts.  But  we  cannot  relinquish 
the  effort  for  unity — that  would  be  suicidal;  hence  we  shall  al- 
ways look  back  gladly  to  a  view  of  life  which  vividly  presents  to 
us,  as  a  realised  fact,  the  ideal  of  wholeness.  The  particular 
form  in  which  this  Hellenic  ideal  was  worked  out  has,  of  course, 
been  rendered  invalid  by  the  great  changes  of  history:  the  pre- 
suppositions, which  seemed  safely  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  old 
system  of  life,  have  been  found  to  contain  difficult  problems; 
the  connection  with  reality  and  the  starting-point  of  trustworthy 
constructive  work,  which  a  naiver  condition  of  life  believed  to  be 
ready  to  hand,  or  at  least  easily  attainable,  we  must  attain  by 
laborious  effort,  and  by  profound  changes  both  in  the  world  of 
things  and  in  ourselves.  But,  for  all  that,  the  ancient  ideals 
retain  their  full  historical  truth,  and  the  ancient  mind  its  loftiness; 
and  these  will  ever  attract,  stimulate,  and  delight  us. 

The  perennial  charm  and  suggestiveness  of  the  Hellenic  ideal 
of  life  are  mainly  due  to  the  historical  position  of  the  ancient 
world  at  the  inception  of  European  civilization.  Since  the  prob- 
lem of  life  was  then  first  taken  hold  of  by  science,  the  constructive 
handling  of  it  had  full  originality.  The  freshness  and  joy  which 
belong  to  the  first  perception — the  discovery — of  a  thing;  the 
naivete  of  sentiment;  the  simplicity  of  description;  all  are 
found  quite  unobscured  at  such  an  absolute  beginning.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  discursive  extensions,  the  added  reflections, 
v;hich  almost  inevitably  appear  in  later  treatments,  are  absent. 
Much,  once  here  said,  is  said  for  all  time;  it  can  never  again  be 
said  so  simply  and  so  impressively. 

Hence,  in  spite  of  the  mortality  that  clings  even  to  them,  the 
ancient  thinkers  remain  the  teachers  and  educators  of  mankind. 
In  work  and  in  the  recreations  of  life,  in  happiness  and  in  sor- 
row, humanity  has  ever  returned  to  them,  as  to  heroes  of  the 
spirit;  they  hold  up  before  us  imperishable  ideals,  and  usher  us 


76 


HELLENISM 


into  the  rich  world  of  classical  antiquity,  which  awakened  all  hu- 
man interests,  embraced  all  activities,  knew  the  joy  of  creating, 
loved  vivid  form,  glorified  nature,  and  possessed  the  inexhausti- 
ble vigour  of  youth. 

B.  POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY 

In  recent  times,  historical  research  has  thrown  a  much  more 
favourable  light  upon  the  period  of  later  antiquity;  but  the  lay 
mind  still  often  refuses  it  due  recognition,  because  it  does  not 
view  it  in  its  historical  perspective  but  measures  it  by  extraneous 
standards.  At  one  time  it  is  represented  as  a  mere  preliminary 
to  Christianity,  and  hence  as  something  immature  and  incom- 
plete; at  another,  as  the  mere  end  and  echo  of  the  classical 
period,  and  thus  likewise  as  inferior.  In  both  cases,  an  extended 
epoch,  full  of  inner  movements  and  changes,  is  treated  as  a 
homogeneous  whole,  and  summarily  disposed  of.  The  fact  is, 
however,  that  it  is  precisely  the  views  of  life  of  later  antiquity 
which  give  evidence  of  an  independent  and  individually  valuable 
character;  they  even  require  a  division  of  the  whole  period  into 
two,  one  filled  with  the  calm  work  of  civilisation,  the  other  with 
religious  agitation.  The  philosophy  of  the  former  may  be  char- 
acterised as  rational  worldly  wisdom,  that  of  the  latter  as  specu- 
lative and  mystical  exaltation.  It  is  principally  this  antithesis 
which  gives  to  later  antiquity  a  characteristic  intensity. 

I.  THE  SYSTEMS  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM 

(a)  The  Intellectual  Character  of  the  Hellenistic  Period 

The  post-classical  period,  which  is  customarily  called  the 
Hellenistic,  lacked  the  principal  motives  of  the  classical  view  of 
life,  namely,  the  stupendous  creative  work  and  the  co-operation 
of  all  forms  of  effort  in  and  through  the  native  city-state.  This 
state,  indeed,  outwardly  preserved  the  traditional  forms  for 
a  considerable  time,  but  the  life  had  vanished  from  them; 
national  destinies  were  now  decided  elsewhere,  particularly  at 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  77 

the  courts  of  princes,  while  petty  states  shrivelled  up  into  dreary 
bourgeois  communities.  Politics  thus  loses  its  connection  with 
the  activity  and  sentiment  of  a  larger  body,  and  becomes  the 
affair  of  a  few  prominent  individuals.  At  the  same  time,  the 
citizen  gains  freedom  in  his  relation  to  the  community;  he  is 
no  longer  supplied  by  it  with  settled  convictions;  nor  do  the 
faith  and  customs  of  his  countrymen  fetter  him  and  prevent  him 
from  choosing  his  own  paths.  On  the  other  hand,  life  now 
oversteps  national  barriers;  a  cosmopolitan  sentiment  arises 
and,  even  if  it  is  not  characterised  by  all  the  storm  and  stress 
of  modern  cosmopolitanism,  it  still  tends,  by  the  kindling  of 
more  refined  emotions,  to  bring  about  a  reconstruction  of 
relations. 

Ancient  cosmopolitanism  found  its  chief  support  in  a  new 
trend  of  life,  in  the  development,  namely,  of  an  erudite  culture, 
and  in  the  associations  of  literary  learning.  As  contrasted  with 
the  classical  age,  what  followed  was  a  complete  revolution. 
There  man  felt  himself  dependent  upon  the  universe  and  also 
inwardly  at  one  with  it;  but  perfect  fellowship  and  the  highest 
realisation  of  his  own  being  were  to  be  won  only  by  severe 
struggle;  yet  in  the  conflict  man  attained  to  heroism,  and  his 
work  rose  to  the  plane  of  original  creation,  the  production  of 
new  realities.  This  period  of  intellectual  heroism  is  now  closed. 
The  individual  no  longer  recognises  himself  as  in  sure  relation 
with  the  universe,  and  as  kin  in  being  with  the  deepest  things  in 
reality.  Rather,  the  general  consciousness  is  dominated  by  the 
conviction  that  between  man  and  the  world  lies  a  deep  chasm 
which  only  arduous  toil  can  bridge,  and  then  but  imperfectly. 
The  subject  being  thus  thrown  back  upon  himself,  the  inner 
character  of  life  also  is  changed ;  a  large  place  is  now  assigned  to 
reflection  and  to  mood ;  the  inner  life  of  the  individual  becomes 
the  chief  abode  of  the  spirit. 

Such  reflection  and  brooding  would  shortly  have  plunged  the 
subject  into  vacuity,  had  not  the  classical  age  handed  down  to 
him  a  splendid  culture.  The  assimilation  and  utilisation  of  this 
culture  now  constitutes  the  substance  of  his  life.  At  the  same 


78  HELLENISM 

time,  scholarship  becomes  the  basis  of  urbanity  and  all  the 
higher  accomplishments;  study  and  knowledge  alone  procure 
a  share  in  spiritual  goods;  they  also  produce  a  special  fellowship 
of  men;  cultivated  society  detaches  itself  more  sharply  from  the 
people,  and  elevates  its  members  above  all  national  and  class 
distinctions.  There  results  a  cosmopolitanism  of  scholarly  labour 
and  literary  cultivation. 

In  such  diligent  and  specialised  work,  through  which  there 
flows  the  stream  of  a  silent  joy  springing  from  the  incomparably 
rich  and  beautiful  classical  culture,  the  age  finds  its  full  satis- 
faction. As  its  pursuit  of  new  aims  is  not  passionate,  so  it  does 
not  assail  the  barriers  of  human  existence;  so,  too,  it  knows 
nothing  of  the  depths  and  the  conflicts  of  the  religious  prob- 
lem. Among  the  people,  indeed,  religion  is  fostered,  and  con- 
tinually puts  forth  new  shoots;  but  the  cultivated  man  knows 
how  to  make  terms  with  it  after  the  rationalistic  fashion,  and 
feels  no  deeper  religious  need.  The  ethical  core  of  the  Greek 
faith,  the  belief  in  a  retributive  justice,  is  not  surrendered;  but 
hi  these  times,  which  exhibit  such  stupendous  catastrophes,  and 
such  remarkable  reversals  of  individual  fortune,  there  develops 
with  peculiar  force  a  belief  in  the  power  of  the  goddess  Tyche, 
i.  e.,  either  a  completely  blind  chance  or  one  possessed  by  envy 
and  malice.  But  even  if  the  impression  of  the  irrationality  of  hu- 
man fate  should  grow,  and  oft  compel  a  sentimental  resignation, 
still  man  is  not  so  overwhelmed  and  terrified  by  evils  as  not  to 
look  for  an  adequate  remedy  in  calm  reflection  and  thoughtful 
prudence;  and  it  is  particularly  philosophy  from  which  these  are 
to  be  expected. 

In  all  the  foregoing  developments  the  later  age  shows  itself 
pitched  in  a  much  lower  key  than  the  classical;  in  intellectual 
power,  hi  fact,  it  falls  far  behind  its  predecessor.  But  that  its 
direction  of  attention  to  the  individual,  and  its  more  vigorous  un- 
folding of  the  inner  life,  constitute  a  valuable  innovation,  ap- 
pears with  special  distinctness  from  the  views  of  life  set  forth  by 
the  philosophers.  Also,  let  it  be  remembered  that  the  several 
sciences  now  first  attain  full  independence  and  extend  their  in- 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  79 

fluence  far  and  wide,  that  in  technical  capacity  man  acquires  far 
more  power  over  things,  that  plastic  art  brings  subjective  emo- 
tion to  increased,  indeed  to  exaggerated,  expression,  that  the 
drama  finds  an  inexhaustible  material  in  the  relations  of  middle- 
class  life,  and  finally,  that  the  idyl  and  the  portrayal  of  manners 
flourish.  In  every  respect  the  individual  attains  greater  free- 
dom and  consideration.  The  fact  that  "the  Hellenistic  poets 
first  elevated  love  to  the  rank  of  the  chief  poetic  passion" 
(Rhode)  testifies  to  the  growth  of  individual  life  and  to  the  ex- 
istence of  a  refined,  but  self-occupied,  self-complacent  senti- 
ment; so  does  the  other  fact  that,  in  marked  contrast  with  a 
decadent  civilisation,  there  here  first  dawns  a  sentimental  joy  in 
nature,  a  longing  for  simple  rural  conditions,  and  for  a  purer  life 
amid  their  beneficent  influences. 

In  all  this  we  may  recognise  an  approach  to  certain  modern 
tendencies;  and,  in  fact,  in  several  instances  an  historical  con- 
nection is  unmistakable.  Yet,  notwithstanding  the  similarity, 
there  remains  a  wide  divergence.  The  unfolding  of  the  later  life 
of  Hellenism  is  much  tamer,  more  prosaic,  and  also,  it  is  true, 
more  moderate,  than  that  of  the  modern  world.  While  here  the 
individual,  with  the  self-conscious  vigour  of  youth,  rises  superior 
to  the  world,  and  would  fain  draw  it  wholly  within  his  grasp,  in- 
deed, shape  it  to  his  own  will,  man  in  the  Hellenistic  epoch  looks 
upon  the  world  as  something  unalterable;  he  attempts  no 
changes  in  the  traditional  culture,  he  aims  only  to  give  it  a  new 
direction,  by  connecting  it  more  forcibly  with  his  subjective 
feeling  and  reflection.  This  difference  between  an  age  which,  if 
not  venerable  was  yet  becoming  senile,  and  one  which  is  fresh, 
aspiring,  and  exultant  in  its  creative  power,  so  alters  all  the 
manifestations  of  life  that  the  similarity  of  the  two  never  amounts 
to  agreement. 

Such  an  intellectual  situation  involves  a  characteristic  phil- 
osophy. This  does  not  strive  for  new  glimpses  into  the  heart  of 
things,  nor  for  a  renovation  of  the  whole  of  civilisation.  But  it 
holds  out  to  individuals  the  promise  of  a  secure  footing  in  life 
and  a  trustworthy  chart  for  life's  guidance;  it  aims  to  help  men 


8o  HELLENISM 

to  happiness  and  to  make  them  self-reliant;  and  for  the  culti- 
vated world  it  becomes  the  chief  instructress  in  morality.  This 
practical  tendency,  it  is  true,  comes  fully  into  play  only  in  the 
course  of  centuries  and  under  the  influence  of  the  Romans;  it  is 
not  given  undue  prominence  in  the  merely  fragmentary  records 
we  possess  of  the  early  movement.  Undeniably,  however,  at  a 
time  subsequent  to  the  classical  systems  the  individual  and  his 
craving  for  happiness  form  the  pivot  about  which  everything 
revolves. 

It  is  also  significant  of  the  change  that  now  a  small  number  of 
convictions  are  at  once  formulated  into  a  dogmatic  creed  which 
thenceforth  persists  through  a  number  of  centuries,  while  pre- 
viously every  achievement  of  thought  immediately  called  forth 
further  developments  and  also  reactions.  What  the  general  in- 
tellectual life  of  the  Hellenistic  age  shows  in  a  striking  manner 
the  philosophy  also  exhibits,  namely,  that  the  great  epoch-mak- 
ing heroes,  with  their  high-souled  aims  of  regenerating  human- 
ity, are  replaced  by  aggregates  of  individual  powers,  by  the  for- 
mation, that  is,  of  small  societies  of  the  nature  of  sects.  Ac- 
cordingly, as  the  plan  of  this  work  necessitates  comparative 
brevity,  we  shall  be  justified  in  confining  ourselves  to  the  two 
principal  schools  of  the  Stoics  and  the  Epicureans.  The  con- 
trast they  present  corresponds  to  the  twofold  relation  which 
man,  once  he  has  ceased  to  be  a  part  of  the  world,  may  assume 
toward  it.  Either  he  may  boldly  defy  the  world,  or  he  may 
make  the  surrender  of  himself  to  it  as  agreeable  as  possible.  In 
the  one  case,  he  will  seek  for  true  happiness  by  rising  superior  to 
the  influence  of  his  surroundings,  and  by  attaining,  through 
union  with  universal  reason,  an  imperturbable  independence 
and  an  inner  mastery  over  things.  In  the  other,  he  will  avoid  all 
conflict  with  the  world,  and  find  his  pleasure  in  a  clever  use  of 
what  life  provides.  Both  tendencies  have  a  similar  starting- 
point,  and  they  frequently  coincide  in  their  results;  but  in  their 
attitude  toward  life  they  are  irreconcilable,  and  the  conflict  be- 
tween them  lasts  until  the  close  of  antiquity.  It  will  be  more  ex- 
pedient to  begin  with  the  Epicurean  school,  because  it  adheres 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  81 

tenaciously  to  a  simple,  fundamental  type  through  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  centuries  without  becoming  involved  in  other  move- 
ments. 

(b)  The  Epicureans 

The  Epicurean  school  displays  in  a  marked  degree  the  char- 
acter of  a  guild  or  sect,  little  affected  by  the  vicissitudes  of  time. 
The  life-work  of  the  master,  Epicurus  (342-341 — 270),  exerted 
a  supreme  influence.  Not  only  was  the  image  of  his  personality 
retained  as  a  living  presence,  but  even  the  formulas  in  which  he 
summed  up  his  philosophy  preserved  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation their  authoritative  force.  Besides  Epicurus,  we  may  men- 
tion the  Roman  poet,  Lucretius  (97-96 — 55),  whose  warmth  of 
conviction  and  fervid  style  made  him — as  late  as  the  eighteenth 
century — a  favourite  with  circles  affected  by  the  Enlightenment. 

The  popular  conception  of  the  Epicureans  is  badly  distorted. 
They  readily  appeared,  and  appear,  as  the  champions  of  every 
kind  of  indulgence,  while  in  truth  their  aim  was  merely  to  free 
men  from  all  the  entanglements  of  a  responsible  share  in  the 
world's  work,  and  to  provide  them,  within  the  sphere  of  a  pri- 
vate circle,  with  a  calm  and  serene  life.  The  result  was  worldly 
wisdom  of  the  fastidious  sort  that  keeps  everything  vulgar  at  a 
distance. 

Hence,  as  compared  with  the  classical  systems,  the  sphere  of 
life  is  here  narrowly  restricted.  It  is  not  from  any  desire  to 
understand  the  nature  of  things  that  Epicurus  occupies  himself 
with  the  problems  which  the  world  presents,  but  in  order  that 
knowledge  may  free  him  from  the  illusions  which  weigh  life 
down  and  embitter  joy.  First  and  foremost  he  attacks  the  doc- 
trine of  an  interference  in  human  affairs  by  supernatural  powers; 
for  life  can  never  be  calmly  and  serenely  enjoyed  so  long  as  the 
bugbear  of  eternity  stares  us  in  the  face.  Epicurus  does  not 
deny  that  there  are  gods;  on  the  contrary,  he  reveres  them  as 
ideals  of  celestial  life.  But  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  gods 
trouble  themselves  about  us  and  our  world.  They  could  neither 
dwell  in  perfect  bliss,  were  they  constantly  occupied  with  human 


82  HELLENISM 

affairs;  nor,  if  they  really  exercised  such  providence,  would  the 
evil  that  pervades  the  world  be  explicable.  That,  however,  we 
have  no  need  to  assume  a  divine  government  is  shown  by  science, 
since  this  proves  that  everything  in  the  world  takes  place  natu- 
rally, and  that  such  order  and  system  as  things  possess  may  be 
sufficiently  explained  from  their  own  nature.  Thus,  natural 
science  is  the  liberator  of  man  from  the  delusions  and  oppres- 
sions of  superstition;  it  is  the  irreconcilable  foe  of  the  fear  of  the 
gods  which  has  brought  upon  mankind  so  much  hatred,  pas- 
sion, and  misery. 

But  Epicurus  rejects  all  philosophical  fetters  no  less  emphat- 
ically than  the  religious  ones.  The  metaphysical  bondage  is  rep- 
resented by  the  doctrine  of  Fate,  of  a  necessity  that  surrounds 
us  with  an  inescapable  compulsion.  Fate,  in  fact,  would  result 
in  a  far  more  awful  oppression  than  superstition.  Self-direction 
and  free  choice  are  indispensable  to  human  weal;  freedom  of 
the  will,  which  was  usually  stoutly  attacked,  at  a  later  time,  by 
the  gainsayers  of  a  supernatural  order,  is  here  postulated  as  an 
essential  condition  of  human  happiness.  Epicurus  could  hardly 
show  more  convincingly  how  much  his  concern  about  happiness 
hampers  his  theoretical  studies. 

A  system  which  so  scrupulously  avoids  all  complications  has 
no  place  for  immortality.  Why  should  we  want  to  live  on  at  all, 
since  there  is  ample  opportunity  to  taste  every  kind  of  good 
thing  during  our  present  life?  Having  feasted  to  satiety,  why 
should  we  not  surrender  to  others  our  places  at  the  table  of  life  ? 
After  all,  life  is  conferred  upon  us  only  for  use;  with  the  expira- 
tion of  our  allotted  time,  let  us  cheerfully  pass  on  the  lorch  to 
other  men.  Death  with  its  annihilation  need  not  agitate  us. 
The  simplest  reflection,  in  fact,  teaches  us  that  death  can  in  no- 
wise touch  us.  For  so  long  as  we  live,  death  has  not  come;  and 
when  it  comes,  we  no  longer  exist.  Why,  then,  should  we  pother 
about  it?  Hence  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  us  from  living 
wholly  for  the  present,  and  seeking  our  whole  happiness  in  our 
immediate  surroundings. 

Such  happiness,  however,  is  not  to  be  found  without  the  con- 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  83 

stant  use  of  insight;  this  alone  teaches  us  a  correct  valuation  of 
life's  goods.  Things  have  a  value  for  us  only  when  they  convey 
pleasure  or  pain.  Human  effort  cannot  set  itself  any  other  goal 
than  the  pleasantest  possible  life.  "The  beginning  and  end  of 
blissful  life"  is  pleasure.  But  let  not  pleasure  be  blindly  seized, 
just  as  it  falls  to  us;  it  is  not  the  first  impression,  but  the  full 
issue  with  all  its  consequences,  that  decides  upon  the  worth  of 
any  experience;  the  consequences  must  be  weighed  and  consid- 
ered; and  it  requires  art  to  estimate  and  measure  pleasures. 
What  else  can  supply  this  art  but  philosophy  ? 

Thus  philosophy  is  converted  into  the  art  of  life,  in  fact,  into 
the  technique  of  enjoyment.  In  appearance  the  task  is  not  very 
intricate;  but  the  difficulty  increases  with  the  execution,  owing 
to  the  limitless  resources  of  civilisation  and  to  the  taste  of  culti- 
vated people.  Indulgence  in  pleasure  must  be  refined  by  a 
process  of  selection — not  to  satisfy  any  moral  appraisal,  but  in 
the  interest  of  happiness  itself.  Thus,  spiritual  joys  are  to  be 
preferred  to  sensuous  ones;  inner  goods  to  external,  as  being  the 
purer  and  more  lasting;  and  the  control  of  the  mind  over  en- 
joyments, the  being  able  to  enjoy  without  being  compelled  to  in- 
dulge, yields  more  happiness  than  the  slavish  dependence  upon 
pleasures.  In  fact,  it  is  less  the  things,  than  himself,  the  culti- 
vated person,  in  the  things,  that  a  man  enjoys;  and  the  highest 
aim  of  all  is  less  a  positive  pleasure  than  a  freedom  from  pain 
and  excitement,  a  serene  peace,  an  unassailable  repose  of  soul. 
But  for  this  is  needed  moderation  in  the  indulgence  of  appetite, 
and  a  proved  clearness  of  vision  and  nobility  of  sentiment.  For, 
"one  cannot  live  agreeably  without  living  intelligently,  beauti- 
fully, and  justly;  nor  intelligently,  beautifully,  and  justly  with- 
out living  agreeably;  for  the  virtues  are  intertwined  with  an 
agreeable  life,  and  an  agreeable  life  is  inseparable  from  the  vir- 
tues" (Epicurus).  But  the  principal  source  of  happiness  will 
ever  be  the  correct  estimate  of  things,  the  liberation  from  the 
fear  of  the  gods  and  from  the  dread  of  death,  the  knowledge  that 
the  good,  rightly  understood,  is  undoubtedly  attainable,  that 
pain,  when  severe,  is  usually  brief,  and  when  it  lasts  long,  not 


84  HELLENISM 

sharp.  A  man  with  such  convictions  will  "be  disquieted  neither 
awake  nor  asleep,  but  will  live  like  a  god  among  men."  This 
view  is  developed  into  an  elaborate  doctrine  of  virtue,  expressed 
in  fastidious  ethical  maxims.  Many  of  Epicurus's  sayings 
were  held  in  high  esteem  even  by  his  opponents,  and  have 
been  incorporated  into  the  common  store  of  worldly  wisdom. 
That  even  this  philosophy  of  pleasure  is  designed  to  make 
men  superior  to  outward  circumstances  appears  from  the 
saying  of  Epicurus,  that  it  is  better  for  intelligent  action  to 
meet  with  misfortune  than  for  imprudence  to  meet  with 
success. 

The  Epicurean  demand  that  the  individual  should  be  com- 
pletely independent  gives  a  peculiar  form  also  to  the  recognition 
of  social  relations.  Man  is  warned  against  forming  any  ties,  on 
account  of  the  inevitable  complications.  Thus,  the  Epicurean 
philosopher  regards  civic  life  with  cold  indifference.  And  in 
order  to  insure  his  immunity  from  that  quarter,  he  advocates  the 
absolute  form  of  government.  Likewise,  marriage  cannot  attract 
him.  So  much  the  more,  he  advocates  the  free  relations  of  in- 
dividuals, such  as  friendship,  intellectual  intercourse,  and  phil- 
anthropy. And  this  movement  was  not  confined  to  a  small  circle; 
its  organising  power  extended  far  and  wide.  "  Epicurus  and  his 
disciples  proselytised,  and  closely  organised  their  society.  It 
extended  throughout  the  whole  of  Greece,  a  state  within  a  state, 
having  a  fixed  constitution,  and  held  together  not  only  by  cor- 
respondence and  itinerant  preaching,  but  by  the  interchange  of 
material  assistance.  Epicurus  knew  how  to  create  an  esprit  de 
corps  which  has  rightly  been  likened  to  that  existing  in  the  early 
Christian  communities"  (Ivo  Bruns).  Thus  philosophy  recog- 
nised that  it  had  an  important  task  to  perform  even  in  this  field, 
namely,  to  bring  together  into  new  societies  resembling  religious 
communities  the  individuals  which  had  been  scattered  like  atoms 
by  the  breaking  up  of  the  old  orders,  and  so  to  give  them  moral 
and  religious  support. 

But  the  effort  to  do  justice  to  the  Epicureans  must  not  blind 
us  to  their  narrow  limitations.  With  them,  man  accepts  the 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  85 

world  as  an  established  order,  and  adroitly  and  shrewdly  accom- 
modates himself  to  it;  an  active,  integral  part  of  it,  he  never  be- 
comes. Rather,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  unalloyed  happiness, 
he  shuns  all  the  turmoil  and  uncertainty  of  co-operative  effort, 
and  retreats  within  himself.  Since,  however,  he  considers  only 
his  own  state  of  feeling,  the  inwardness  into  which  he  has  with- 
drawn reveals  to  him  no  new  world,  nor  are  there  any  impulses 
or  capacities  produced  which  might  arouse  and  develop  his  soul. 
This  plan  of  merely  utilising  existing  capacities  offers  nothing 
by  way  of  compensation  for  all  the  inner  and  outer  losses,  except 
the  reflection  that  at  bottom  evil  is  weak  and  the  good  strong;  in 
other  words,  it  cannot  do  without  a  large  optimism;  and,  in  fact, 
Epicurus  adheres  to  optimism  with  all  his  strength.  But,  sup- 
pose that  unreason  and  suffering  cannot  be  so  easily  silenced  ? 
Then  the  anticipated  bliss  of  the  wise  man  may  quickly  turn 
into  an  inner  vacuity,  into  a  hopeless  pessimism.  Furthermore, 
such  a  view  of  life  implies  presuppositions  which  it  cannot  itself 
justify,  which,  taken  strictly,  contradict  it.  It  implies  a  highly 
developed  state  of  civilisation,  refined  taste,  and  noble  senti- 
ment, a  joy  in  the  good  and  the  beautiful;  without  all  these  life 
would  become  empty  or  rude.  But  Epicureanism  does  not  tend 
to  produce  such  a  civilisation  by  its  own  toil  and  sacrifices :  for 
the  sensuous,  natural  being,  above  which  its  conceptions  do  not 
rise,  there  is  arbitrarily  substituted  a  cultivated  personality 
swayed  by  moral  and  intellectual  interests.  Thus  this  view  of 
life  feeds  as  a  parasite  at  strangers'  tables;  the  labour  of  others 
must  create  what  it  forthwith  appropriates  to  its  own  enjoyment, 
or,  in  meditation,  resolves  into  maxims  of  prudence.  Although 
Epicureanism  may  thus  offer  much  to  the  individual  at  particu- 
lar epochs,  on  the  whole  it  cannot  inspire  or  produce  anything; 
it  remains  a  mere  side-issue,  a  phenomenon  accompanying  a  ma- 
ture, indeed  an  over-mature,  civilisation ;  and,  as  such,  we  must 
expect  it  constantly  to  reappear  in  some  new  guise,  and  to  find 
adherents.  But  all  the  shrewdness,  cleverness,  and  amiability  it 
possesses  cannot  compensate  for  its  fatal  lack  of  spiritual  pro- 
ductivity. 


86  HELLENISM 


(c)  The  Stoics 

Incomparably  more  was  accomplished  for  the  problem  of  life 
by  the  Stoics;  their  school  also  shows  far  more  inner  movement. 
Although  pure  theory  was  gradually  forced  into  the  background, 
Stoicism  preserved  throughout  a  consistent  character;  during 
the  early  Christian  centuries  the  tendency  toward  the  practical 
and  parenetical  wholly  gained  the  upper  hand;  and  the  moral 
reformation  which  later  antiquity  undertook  by  reviving  classi- 
cal ideals  owned  the  leadership  of  the  Stoics.  It  must  be  our 
effort  to  bring  into  relief  the  common  character  which  unites  the 
various  historical  phases  and  the  several  individual  peculiarities. 

What  the  Stoa  historically  achieved  for  the  problem  of  life  was 
to  give  morals  a  scientific  basis,  and  to  elevate  ethical  problems 
to  a  position  of  complete  independence  and  of  recognised  pre- 
eminence. In  respect  of  morals,  the  Stoics  did  not  merely  fur- 
ther develop  transmitted  data,  not  merely  consolidate  more  firmly 
existing  elements;  rather,  an  elaborate  and  specific  doctrine  of 
morals,  such  as  they  supplied,  had  not  previously  existed  at  all, 
not  even  in  the  Socratic  school,  i.  e.,  not  in  a  scientific  form. 
For,  although  the  Cynics  taught  that  happiness  arises  exclusively 
from  excellence,  they  disdained  all  theoretical  inquiry,  and  there- 
fore were  without  any  fundamental  philosophical  views:  with 
such  a  beginning  morals  could  not  become  a  world-power.  But, 
with  the  starting-point  of  the  Stoics,  it  could;  since  for  them  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  moral  conduct  without  a  foundation  of 
theoretical  convictions  and  a  coherent  system  of  thought 

Stoicism  is  more  closely  related  to  the  classical  way  of  think- 
ing than  the  first  impression  might  lead  one  to  suppose;  the 
principal  difference  is  that  the  Stoics  considered  everything  more 
in  the  abstract,  and  worked  out  their  conclusions  mainly  by  med- 
itation. Thus,  they  regarded  man  as  a  member  of  the  great 
world,  only  not  as  in  so  close  and  obvious  a  relation  to  it;  the 
world  as  a  realm  of  reason,  but  less  as  a  harmonious  work  of  art 
than  as  a  system  of  logical  order  and  appropriate  arrangement; 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  87 

man  as  by  nature  impelled  and  qualified  to  comprehend  univer- 
sal reason,  but  rather  in  general  thoughts  than  as  manifest 
throughout  the  infinite  detail  of  the  actual  world.  Even  with 
this  view,  man  derives  the  problem  of  life  from  his  own  rational 
endowment,  from  his  faculty  of  thought.  The  universe  is  much 
too  rigidly  organised  and  too  strictly  self-contained  for  man's 
acts  to  alter  the  condition  of  things  or  to  direct  their  course  into 
new  channels.  But  the  thinking  being  can  take  up  either  one  of 
two  attitudes  toward  the  world.  It  makes  a  vast  difference 
whether  one  lets  the  world's  happenings  pass  over  him  unfeel- 
ingly and  stolidly,  and  performs  whatever  he  has  to  do  under 
the  blind  compulsion  of  its  superior  force,  or  whether  one  intelli- 
gently masters  the  world,  inwardly  assimilates  it,  comprehends 
its  necessities,  and  so  transforms  their  compulsion  into  freedom. 
Here  is  a  point  of  intimate  personal  decision,  which,  at  the  same 
time,  draws  a  line  of  distinction  between  men.  Whatever  must 
happen,  will  happen;  but  whether  it  occurs  without  us,  and  in 
spite  of  us,  or  whether  it  takes  place  with  our  concurrence, 
changes  radically  the  character  of  life,  and  decides  whether  we 
are  the  slaves  or  the  masters  of  things.  In  free  obedience  lies  the 
unique  greatness  of  man.  "To  obey  God  is  freedom"  (Seneca). 

But  we  can  find  satisfaction  in  the  thought  of  the  world  only 
when  all  doubt  is  removed  from  the  rationality  of  the  universe; 
only  then  has  the  will  a  good  and  sufficient  reason  to  adapt  itself 
to  the  order  of  the  world.  Hence  an  important  part,  indeed  an 
indispensable  presupposition,  of  the  Stoic  view  is  the  justifying 
of  the  state  of  the  world,  the  dispelling  of  the  appearance  of  un- 
reason which  the  first  impression  creates.  It  seemed,  indeed, 
particularly  in  later  times,  as  if  the  philosopher  were  called  upon, 
like  an  advocate,  to  defend  the  Deity  against  accusations,  and  to 
recommend  the  world  to  mankind  as  something  good  and  ac- 
ceptable. Thus  arose  the  notion  of  a  theodicy,  to  which,  it  is 
true,  Leibniz  first  gave  the  name. 

In  the  working  out  of  this  principal  thought,  various  lines  of 
reflection  cross,  and  also  merge  into,  one  another.  In  the  first 
place,  the  idea  of  a  thorough-going  causal  connection,  of  a  uni- 


88  HELLENISM 

versal  conformity  to  law,  was  so  energetically  defended  that  it 
forthwith  became  an  integral  part  of  the  scientific  consciousness. 
This  causal  order,  however,  appeared  to  the  Stoics  as  being  at 
the  same  time  the  expression  of  a  divine  government;  they 
argued  that  there  must  be  a  Deity  underlying  the  world,  since  a 
universe,  which  has  animate  parts,  must  also  be  animate  as 
a  whole.  Furthermore,  the  Deity  has  adapted  the  world  to 
rational  beings,  and  even  included  individuals  in  his  care.  Such 
evil  as  exists  is  only  a  secondary  consequence  of  the  development 
of  the  world,  and  even  this  subordinate  result  is  turned  to  good 
by  the  divine  reason.  The  unreconciled,  even  unreconcilable, 
elements  in  these  processes  of  reasoning  do  not  trouble  the 
Stoics.  For  their  convictions  spring  far  less  from  any  theoreti- 
cal demonstration  than  from  a  faith  which  is  indispensable  to 
their  spiritual  self-preservation.  They  are  strengthened  and 
confirmed  in  this  faith,  moreover,  by  the  practical  problem  it 
imposes  upon  them,  since  the  solution  of  this  absorbs  their 
whole  energy. 

The  contemplation  of  universal  reason  can  lead  us  to  complete 
freedom  and  complete  happiness  only  if  our  whole  being  goes 
out  in  thought,  and  everything  is  excluded  from  it  that  would 
make  us  dependent  upon  external  conditions.  But  feeling  and 
the  emotions  cause  such  a  dependence,  since  they  involve  us  in 
all  the  turmoil  and  misery  of  existence.  The  chief  reason  for 
their  influence  is  a  false  valuation  of  things.  For  the  evils,  like 
the  rest,  of  the  outside  world,  have  a  power  only  over  the  person 
who  wrongly  ascribes  reality  to  them:  "it  is  not  things  that  dis- 
quiet us,  but  our  opinions  about  things"  (Epictetus).  To  over- 
come this  tendency  to  put  a  false  value  upon  things  is  itself  an  act 
that  demands  the  fullest  exertion  of  our  powers.  Thus,  think- 
ing itself  becomes  conduct;  it  is  no  mere  theorising,  but  cease- 
less activity,  a  putting  away  of  all  lassitude,  an  effort  of  our 
whole  being;  in  a  word,  it  is  a  thought-action  which  inseparably 
unites  wisdom  and  virtue,  in  fact  fuses  them  into  one.  This 
thought-action  alone  yields  true  happiness;  whoever  seeks  for 
happiness  in  the  outer  world,  and  thus  becomes  exposed  to  the 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  "  89 

impressions  of  things,  whoever  is  bent  on  enjoyment,  and  so 
falls  a  prey  to  greed  and  fear,  sinks  into  certain  misery.  Not 
only  excessive  emotion,  but  every  kind  and  degree  of  emotion, 
all  pleasure  and  sorrow,  all  desire  and  fear,  must  be  put  away 
by  a  manly  soul.  Adversity  becomes  even  valuable  as  a  training 
in  virtue,  which  if  unexercised  easily  falls  asleep:  it  is  a  mis- 
fortune never  to  meet  with  misfortune.  The  goddess  Fortuna 
customarily  bestows  her  favours  upon  commonplace  natures; 
the  great  man  is  called  to  triumph  over  great  obstacles  and  great 
vicissitudes.  One's  attitude  toward  the  griefs  of  others,  as  well 
as  toward  his  own,  should  not  be  sentimental,  but  active;  let  us 
give  help  swiftly  by  deed,  but  not  be  betrayed  into  sympathetic 
lamenting  and  wailing  which  profits  no  one.  Let  perfect  "apathy" 
rule,  i.  e.,  not  a  dull  insensibility,  but  an  immovable  firmness,  an 
elimination  of  all  sympathetic  feeling. 

Such  a  liberation  from  the  power  of  temporal  destiny  includes 
the  right  freely  to  cast  life  itself  away,  so  soon  as  it  no  longer 
affords  the  conditions  of  a  rational  activity.  Suicide  does  not 
appear  here  as  an  act  of  despair,  but  as  a  matter  of  calm  con- 
sideration and  as  an  exercise  of  moral  freedom.  And  as  the 
Greek  thinkers  made  their  lives  conform  to  their  convictions,  so 
there  were  several  of  the  leaders  of  the  Stoa  who  met  voluntary 
deaths.  To  the  great  majority  of  the  Stoics  death  indeed  did 
not  mean  complete  extinction.  Individual  souls,  they  thought, 
will  continue  to  exist  until  the  periodically  recurring  universal 
conflagration  brings  them  back  to  the  Deity,  the  substratum  of 
all  things.  But  even  the  thought  of  total  extinction  contains 
nothing  terrifying.  For  the  mere  length  of  time  effects  no  change 
in  happiness.  The  virtuous  man  possesses  already,  and  for  so 
long  as  he  lives,  all  the  blessedness  of  Deity. 

Thus,  in  theory,  everything  fits  easily  and  smoothly  together; 
life  seems  removed  from  every  source  of  danger.  But  the  Stoics 
by  no  means  underestimated  the  difficulty  of  the  practical 
problem.  With  them,  the  characteristic  joy  hi  creative  activity, 
which  distinguished  the  work  of  the  classical  thinkers,  disap- 
pears; existence  acquires  a  profound  seriousness,  and  life  seems 


90  HELLENISM 

filled  with  toil  and  struggle.  The  conception  of  life  as  a  conflict 
(vivere  est  militare)  owes  its  origin  particularly  to  this  source, 
whence  it  has  passed  into  the  common  consciousness  of  man- 
kind. 

The  thinker  is  called  upon  to  contend  first  against  his  envi- 
ronment, which  is  dominated  by  the  false  valuation  of  things; 
so  let  the  judgment  of  the  multitude  be  treated  with  indiffer- 
ence, and  let  no  one  fear  to  use  even  the  harshest  paradoxes. 
Grave  dangers  arise  also  from  the  effeminacy  and  excessive  re- 
finement of  civilisation;  to  this  tendency  the  Stoics  oppose  a 
high  regard  for  homely  conditions,  for  the  simple,  indeed  rude, 
state  of  nature.  More  zealously,  however,  than  against  external 
conditions,  the  thinker  must  contend  against  himself,  against  the 
perils  in  his  own  nature.  For  the  deadly  enemy  of  true  happi- 
ness, namely,  a  compliant  attitude  toward  things,  ever  lurks  in 
his  breast,  and  entices  him  to  abandon  his  high  aims:  this  enemy 
must  be  combated  with  untiring  vigilance  and  invincible  cour- 
age. Such  inner  courage  becomes  the  chief  characteristic  of  the 
virtuous  man;  perfect  virtue  is  heroism,  greatness  of  soul.  The 
hero  rises  far  above  the  average  of  his  fellows;  the  destruction 
of  the  world  could  not  move  him;  his  conduct  is  a  drama  for  the 
gods.  But  in  his  supreme  eminence  he  isolates  himself  from 
men  and  things;  he  attains  less  a  dominion  over  the  world  than 
an  indifference  toward  it;  he  remains  rather  in  premeditation  of 
activity,  in  preparedness  for  conduct,  than  exerts  his  power  in 
actual  doing,  in  which  it  would  be  fully  spent.  The  question  in- 
evitably arises,  how  many  will  actually  soar  to  the  height  of 
heroes,  how  many  will  possess  the  power  to  liberate  themselves  ? 
For  the  Stoics  rest  the  whole  of  life  upon  this  one  point  of  moral 
power.  Whither  shall  man  turn,  and  on  what  shall  he  found  his 
hope,  if  he  becomes  conscious  of  falling  far  short  of  the  goal, 
and  feels  the  helplessness  of  his  own  faculties  ? 

So  the  Stoic  view  of  life  contains  much  that  is  problematical. 
Yet  behind  it  all  there  remains,  as  a  permanent  service  of  the 
highest  value,  the  discovery  and  development  of  an  independent 
ethics.  In  the  decision  to  rise  to  the  plane  of  universal  reason, 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  91 

in  the  act  of  free  obedience,  we  have  the  work  of  the  whole,  the 
inner,  man;  therein  is  revealed  man's  capacity  to  act  as  a  self 
transcending  his  particular  faculties,  and  to  make  his  whole 
existence  dependent  upon  his  own  deed.  Such  an  inner  deed  is 
far  superior  to  all  outward  activity.  Inwardness  thus  attains 
complete  independence;  a  depth  of  soul  is  discovered  and  made 
the  chief  aim  of  all  endeavour.  A  number  of  important  changes 
result.  Self-knowledge  acquires  the  sense  of  an  examination 
and  judgment  of  the  inner  constitution  of  man;  conceptions 
such  as  consciousness  and  conscience  become  fully  clear  and 
attain  a  fixed  meaning;  and  the  worth  of  conduct  is  now  deter- 
mined by  the  disposition  alone. 

At  the  same  time,  the  supremacy  of  morals  is  fully  recognised. 
Notwithstanding  all  the  paradoxes,  we  have  here  simple  and 
unassailable  truths.  The  morally  good  alone  may  be  called 
good;  compared  with  virtue,  all  life's  other  values  are  as  nought; 
it  alone  gives  true  happiness.  Likewise,  the  distinction  between 
good  and  evil  is  accentuated  to  the  point  of  a  complete  antithe- 
sis; all  transitions  and  mediations  disappear;  throughout  life 
man  is  confronted  with  an  abrupt,  Either — Or.  And  the  deci- 
sion is  not  according  to  one's  mere  liking.  For  above  us  reigns 
the  universal  law,  demanding  our  obedience.  Mightier  than 
ever  before  rises  the  idea  of  duty,  which  now  acquires  a  definite 
meaning  and  a  distinct  name. 

But  the  conduct  of  life  was  not  only  spiritualised  by  the 
Stoics;  it  was  also  universalised  by  them  in  a  manner  new  to 
antiquity.  When  the  inner  aspect  of  conduct  is  elevated  to 
a  position  of  supreme  importance,  all  the  differences  among  men 
pale  before  the  fact  of  their  common  humanity.  It  is  now  both 
possible  and  necessary  for  men  to  esteem  and  to  labour  for  one 
another  merely  as  men ;  for  it  is  not  so  much  the  particular  state 
or  nation  that  binds  us  together  as  it  is  the  universal  reason. 
In  this  way  arises  a  humanitarian  or  cosmopolitan  ethics.  What 
the  earlier  Stoics  taught  on  this  point  was  actually  felt  and  prac- 
tically carried  out  by  the  thinkers  of  the  time  of  the  Roman 
Emperors.  The  idea  of  a  fraternal  community  of  all  men  be- 


92  HELLENISM 

comes  a  power;  the  metaphor  of  the  organism  is  extended  from 
the  state  to  the  whole  of  humanity,  and  all  rational  beings 
appear  as  members  of  one  body;  human  nature  is  respected 
even  in  its  least  worthy  representatives,  and  the  common  hu- 
manity in  an  enemy  is  loved.  Thus  the  conception  of  philan- 
thropy, which  was  unknown  to  Plato  and  Aristotle,  is  added  to 
the  world's  moral  consciousness.  All  men  are  citizens  of  a  uni- 
versal empire  of  reason.  "  The  world  is  the  common  fatherland 
of  all  men"  (Musonius).  "As  Antoninus,  Rome  is  home  and 
fatherland  to  me;  as  man,  the  universe"  (Marcus  Aurelius). 
The  growth  of  the  idea  of  God  increases  the  warmth  of  humani- 
tarian feeling.  As  children  of  one  Father,  we  should  hold  to- 
gether, and  fraternally  love  and  help  one  another.  From  such 
a  fellowship  there  flows  a  stream  of  humane  sentiment  even  into 
the  general  conditions  of  life,  where  it  tends  to  suppress  slavery, 
and  to  promote  the  care  of  the  poor  and  the  sick.  Emperor  and 
slaves  alike  are  included  and  united  in  the  same  forward  move- 
ment. Now,  too,  a  common  natural  law,  superior  to  the  special 
laws  of  individual  states,  is  recognised  and  developed;  and  of  its 
effects  we  have  ample  evidence  in  Roman  law. 

The  Stoic  view  of  things  has  a  limitation,  it  is  true,  in  the  fact 
that  all  it  achieves  lies  within  a  given  world;  it  makes  no  at- 
tempt to  establish  a  new  community,  or  to  marshal  all  the  indi- 
vidual forces  to  a  combined  attack  upon  unreason.  So  far  as  the 
ancient  world  is  concerned,  the  tendency  toward  philanthropy 
and  cosmopolitanism  remains  a  matter  of  individual  feeling  and 
conviction  rather  than  becomes  a  general  movement.  But  even 
so,  it  had  its  value;  for  it  forms  the  beginning  of  all  further 
development. 

The  history  of  the  Stoa  does  not  fall  within  the  plan  of  the 
present  work.  But  it  may  be  noted  that  the  progress  of  cen- 
turies has  brought  out  only  the  more  distinctly  the  unsolved 
problems  and  the  defects  of  the  system,  such  as  the  discrepancy 
between  the  over- wrought  ideal  and  the  actual  conduct  of  men, 
the  want  of  any  positive  content  to  life,  the  isolation  of  the  indi- 
vidual, and  the  rigorous  suppression  of  all  feeling.  Even  in 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  93 

earlier  times  there  were  not  wanting  accommodations,  relaxing 
the  severity  of  the  strict  principles;  but  these  concessions  only 
gave  rise  to  fresh  complications.  By  lowering  themselves  from 
the  lofty  ideal  of  life  of  the  wise  man  to  promulgate  a  set  of  rules 
designed  for  mediocrity,  the  Stoics  became  the  originators  of  the 
precarious  doctrine  of  a  twofold  morals;  and  by  recognising  any 
sort  of  an  admissible  supposition  (probabilis  ratio)  as  a  sufficient 
argument,  instead  of  attempting  a  strict  scientific  deduction,  they 
introduced  the  ill-famed  probabilism. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  the  obstacles  and  limitations,  the 
Stoa  fought  a  good  fight,  and,  particularly  in  the  early  Christian 
centuries,  proved  itself  to  be  the  nucleus  of  a  moral  reformation. 
No  more  than  others  could  it  ignore  the  fact  that  the  times  were 
altered,  and  that  the  problem  of  happiness  was  pressed  into  the 
foreground  with  ever  greater  insistence  and  passion.  To  the 
Stoics  of  the  time  of  the  Roman  Emperors,  philosophy  became 
primarily  a  support  and  a  solace  amid  the  unrest  and  the  mis- 
eries of  the  age;  the  retreat  into  the  inmost  self,  the  awakening 
of  the  divine  that  dwells  in  every  man,  promised  a  sure  liberation 
from  all  evil,  and  the  prize  of  pure  happiness.  Thought  here 
soars  above  time  and  sense,  to  rest  in  the  eternity  of  an  invisible 
order.  But  all  the  soaring  of  the  spirit,  all  the  self-exhortation 
of  the  sage,  cannot  restrain  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  empti- 
ness and  worthlessness  of  human  existence.  Thus  we  see,  e.  g., 
the  Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius,  the  last  eminent  Stoic,  tossed 
hither  and  thither  by  conflicting  moods.  In  the  Meditations,. 
which  introduced  the  monologue  into  literature,  he  extols  the 
glory  of  the  world  and  the  dignity  of  man.  "The  soul  traverses 
the  whole  world  and  the  void  that  surrounds  it  and  its  total 
structure,  and  it  reaches  into  the  infinity  of  eternity  and  com- 
prehends the  periodic  re-birth  of  all  things."  Eternity  may  be- 
come fully  present  in  human  conduct.  For  in  the  deed  of  the 
moment  the  whole  life,  the  past  and  the  future,  may  be  com- 
prehended. So  man  should  raise  himself  above  all  that  is  petty, 
and  "live  as  upon  a  mountain."  But  the  thought  of  the  posses- 
sion of  eternity  and  infinitude  may  easily  assume  the  meaning 


94  HELLENISM 

that  all  temporal  things  weigh  as  nothing  in  the  balance,  and 
that  there  is  no  powerful  motive  to  action.  Nothing  new  is 
achieved,  notwithstanding  all  the  appearance  of  development. 
"He  who  has  seen  the  present  has  seen  all  that  was  throughout 
eternity,  and  that  will  be  throughout  eternity. .  For  it  is  all  one 
in  kind  and  form."  "Whoever  is  forty  years  of  age,  if  he  but 
possess  some  understanding,  has  in  some  sort  seen  all  the  past 
and  future  according  to  its  homogeneity."  But  where  all  eager 
interest  has  so  completely  disappeared,  human  existence  is  vain. 
"The  world  is  incessant  change  and  life  mere  opinion."  In- 
deed, the  admission  of  this  futility  appears  to  be  the  surest  safe- 
guard against  every  kind  of  unrest  and  danger;  hence  the  dis- 
position arises  to  represent  not  only  life's  sorrows  but  also  its 
joys  as  wholly  insignificant.  "The  whole  earth  is  a  point"; 
"Everything  human  is  smoke";  "Human  life  is  a  dream  and 
a  journey  in  a  strange  land";  " Soon  eternity  will  hide  all." 

Such  moods  tell  of  a  languid  and  an  enfeebled  age.  Where 
man  thinks  so  meanly  of  himself  and  of  his  task  the  buoyancy 
and  energy  of  life  are  speedily  exhausted;  there  remains  no 
power  of  successful  resistance  to  life's  inner  desolation,  nor  to 
the  sudden  decline  of  civilisation.  The  age  of  the  systems  of 
worldly  wisdom  was,  in  fact,  over.  They  had  their  mission  in 
an  epoch  of  richer  and  more  luxurious  civilisation.  At  such  a 
time  they  disclosed  to  the  individual  the  inner  wealth  of  his  own 
nature,  and  gave  him  a  stay  and  support  within  himself  which 
raised  him  above  the  vicissitudes  of  the  world.  They  eagerly 
undertook  the  moral  education  of  mankind;  they  not  only  pro- 
duced writings  which  reached  all  classes,  and  exerted  an  uplift- 
ing influence  upon  beliefs,  but  they  also  afforded  personal  ex- 
amples of  living  which  inspired  reverence.  But  a  movement 
based  primarily  upon  subjective  reflection  and  individual  im- 
pulse proved  inadequate  the  moment  the  structure  of  civilisation 
began  to  totter  and  man  had  to  take  up  the  fight  for  his  spiritual 
existence;  in  short,  confronted  by  radical  innovations,  the  sys- 
tems of  worldly  wisdom  broke  down.  Still,  they  produced  fruit- 
ful results  which  extended  far  beyond  their  immediate  circle  and 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  95 

their  own  time.  Early  Christianity  drew  in  large  measure  from 
the  Stoic  ethics;  the  modern  Enlightenment  also  fell  back  upon 
the  Stoics;  and,  notwithstanding  all  the  differences  in  intellectual 
conditions,  such  men  as  Hugo  Grotius,  Descartes,  Spinoza,  and 
even  Kant  and  Fichte,  display  kinship  with  them.  Not  only 
have  individual  works  of  this  school  become  a  permanent  part 
of  the  world's  literature,  but  the  whole  view  of  life  here  devel- 
oped has  maintained  itself  in  history  as  an  independent  type  of 
a  manly  and  dignified  sort. 

H.  RELIGIOUS  SPECULATION 

(a)  The  Trend  Toward  Religion 

The  last  great  achievement  of  antiquity  was  a  movement 
toward  religion  and  religious  speculation.  We  cannot  estimate 
this  development  so  lightly,  as  is  still  frequently  done;  we  see  in 
it  far  more  than  a  mere  decline  of  intellectual  energy,  or  a  loss 
by  Hellenism  of  its  true  character.  For  even  if  the  movement, 
viewed  broadly,  presents  an  unattractive  picture,  exhibiting  much 
that  is  depressing  and  barren,  in  the  background  nobler  forces, 
spiritual  necessities,  are  at  work;  and  in  the  end,  creative  activity 
rises  out  of  the  chaos  to  a  height  which  had  not  been  attained 
since  Plato.*  The  age  was  weary  of  cultivated  life;  and  the  re- 
ligious movement  shared  in  the  general  exhaustion.  But  the 
new  tendency  did  not  end  in  weariness.  Rather,  it  gradually 
manifested  an  original  vital  impulse;  the  yearning  for  positive 
happiness,  for  the  realisation  and  satisfaction  of  the  self,  which 
had  been  so  long  stifled,  again  passionately  asserted  itself.  At 
the  same  time,  the  minds  of  men  were  seized  with  a  vague  dread, 
a  tormenting  anxiety,  concerning  the  invisible  relations  of  life 
and  their  consequences;  hence  a  disquieting  fear  of  dark  powers 
and  eternal  punishment  spread  upon  all  sides.  Man  was  shaken 
to  the  depths  of  his  being;  but  the  very  shock  itself  called  forth 
a  faith  in  the  indestructibility  of  his  nature,  and  impelled  him  to 
seek  passionately  for  new  paths.  Such  a  state  of  feeling  could 
find  no  satisfaction  in  the  systems  of  worldly  wisdom  with  their 

•  See  Appendix  B. 


96  HELLENISM 

passive  surrender  to  the' course  of  the  world,  their  reduction  of 
life  to  calm  contemplation,  their  repression  of  all  strong  emotion. 
Likewise,  the  last  revival  of  ancient  civilisation  in  the  second 
century  after  Christ,  with  its  return  to  the  old  standards  of  taste 
and  its  preference  for  formal  culture,  offered  nothing  upon  the 
questions  that  then  stirred  men's  hearts :  all  the  outward  splen- 
dour of  the  revival  but  thinly  veiled  its  inner  hollowness.  With 
the  third  century  the  illusion  also  vanished,  and  there  followed 
a  sudden  collapse.  Even  art,  the  most  faithful  companion  of  the 
spirit  of  Hellenism,  now  loses  its  power;  the  last  prominent  fig- 
ure is  that  of  Caracalla  (d.  217). 

In  the  third  century,  accordingly,  the  field  was  left  wholly  to 
the  religious  movement;  after  slowly  gathering  headway  since 
the  beginning  of  our  era,  the  new  tendency  now  burst  forth  in 
a  mighty  conflagration.  And  the  third  century  also  produced, 
and  upon  Greek  soil,  the  only  great  philosopher  of  the  move- 
ment, the  sovereign-minded  Plotinus.  But  properly  to  appre- 
ciate his  greatness,  we  must  first  glance  at  his  predecessors. 

Philosophy,  by  sharing  in  the  trend  toward  religion,  again 
gained  a  closer  touch  with  its  surroundings.  For,  although  the 
enlightenment  of  the  Hellenistic  period  had  crowded  religion 
out  of  the  intellectual  sphere,  it  had  not  eradicated  it  from  the 
usages  nor  from  the  hearts  of  the  people.  And  now  that  an  ap- 
proach again  took  place  between  the  cultured  class  and  the 
multitude,  the  old  religious  tradition  acquired  a  new  value,  al- 
though, it  is  true,  not  without  the  boldest  revisions  of  the  in- 
herited doctrine. 

But  philosophy  also  possessed  connections  with  religion  in  its 
own  traditions.  The  highly  cultivated  were  for  the  most  part 
adherents  of  Platonism,  the  religious  side  of  which  now  first 
attained  its  full  development.  Furthermore,  Orphic  and  Pythag- 
orean doctrines  displayed  a  strong  power  of  attraction;  they 
kindled  a  longing  for  the  liberation  of  the  soul  sunk  in  sensuous- 
ness,  and  offered  in  compensation  not  only  an  ascetic  life,  but  a 
faith  in  miracles  and  divinations.*  To  these  were  added  power- 
ful influences  from  the  Orient,  chiefly  in  the  form,  at  first,  of 

*  See  Appendix  C. 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  97 

curious  and  even  repulsive  cults,  which  none  the  less  yielded  a 
fruitful  stimulus  to  the  world  of  thought. 

Thus  there  was  produced  a  decidedly  mixed  atmosphere;  old 
and  new,  absurdity  and  wisdom,  mingled  in  it  in  confusion. 
The  manner  in  w'hich  the  various  factors  could  be  united  in  the 
same  personality,  and  the  leaning  toward  religion  be  harmoni- 
ously combined  with  a  retention  of  the  wealth  of  the  old  civilisa- 
tion, is  strikingly  shown  in  the  figure  of  the  refined,  serious,  and 
gentle  Plutarch  (c.  50-120  A.D.).  It  would  be  difficult  to  find 
elsewhere  such  a  happy  picture  of  the  religious  moods  of  the  age 
as  is  contained  in  his  treatise,  "  On  Isis  and  Osiris." 

The  new  religious  movement — also  in  this  instance  we  must 
unite  the  various  phenomena  in  a  comprehensive  view — exhibits 
above  all  an  altered  attitude  toward  the  problem  of  evil.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  the  Greek  thinkers  showed  a  pronounced 
tendency  to  treat  evil  as  a  subordinate  consequence  of  the  moral 
order  of  the  world,  and  that  the  Stoics  in  particular  did  their 
utmost  to  resolve  it  into  an  illusive  appearance;  now,  however, 
a  potent  reality  is  assigned  to  it.  Since,  if  God  were  the  cause 
of  all  things,  nothing  evil  could  exist,  the  unreason  of  the  world 
must  have  had  some  other  origin ;  exaggerating  an  old  view, 
sensuous  matter  with  its  unintelligibility  is  accordingly  regarded 
as  the  source.  Evil  no  longer  appears  as  a  force  which  willingly 
yields  to  the  good,  but  as  a  hostile  power  dividing  the  universe 
in  twain.  The  world  becomes  the  arena  of  a  fierce,  irreconcil- 
able conflict.  The  great  cleavage  which  disrupts  the  universe 
is  repeated  in  man;  in  him  also  reason  and  sense  are  ever  at 
variance,  ever  involved  in  a  feud.  The  more  closely  classical 
antiquity  had  interwoven  the  sensuous  and  the  spiritual  in  a 
single  life-process,  the  greater  the  determination  with  which  they 
are  now  sundered.  Disgust  at  the  ever-increasing  refinement  of 
the  sensuous  life  seems  to  have  seized  entire  circles  of  people; 
it  was  impossible  to  go  to  excess  in  denouncing  the  same  varied 
richness  of  life  which  had  previously  enchanted  the  Greek  spirit. 

Amid  such  changes,  although  at  first  silently  and  impercep- 
tibly, the  position  and  content  of  religion  become  shifted.  While 


98  HELLENISM 

at  an  earlier  time,  and  evefa  for  a  Plato,  religion  was  closely  con- 
nected with  the  intellectual  life,  and  the  entering  upon  a  relation- 
ship with  the  divine  was  held  to  uplift  all  human  endeavour,  now 
religion  begins  to  separate  itself  from  everything  else;  it  prom- 
ises man  a  new  and  higher  life,  but  demands  in  exchange  the 
allegiance  of  his  whole  soul.  Here  there  arises  for  the  first  time 
a  specific  religion  and  even  religiosity.  To  turn  to  the  Deity 
now  means  to  renounce  entirely  the  impure  and  inconstant 
world;  all  other  aims  sink  out  of  sight  before  the  one  great 
summons. 

There  is  a  change,  likewise,  in  the  character  and  position  of 
the  Deity.  Perfect  Purity  ought  not  to  concern  itself  directly 
with  a  discordant  world;  a  transcendent  majesty  is  its  due,  a 
complete  aloofness,  an  exaltation  high  above  all  human  concep- 
tions. But  there  exists  at  the  same  time  a  fervid  longing  to  se- 
cure some  form  of  access  to  the  divine.  Thus  nothing  remains 
but  a  mediation  by  intermediate  powers  of  superhuman  though 
subdivine  character;  hence  the  doctrine  of  spirits,  which  pos- 
sessed a  basis  in  the  popular  faith,  and  was  also  made  use  of 
incidentally  by  Plato,  now  attained  an  enormous  influence  and 
absorbed  men's  minds  with  a  steadily  increasing  insistence. 
Man  believed  himself  to  be  surrounded  on  every  hand  by  such 
mediate  beings,  and  to  be  everywhere  dependent  upon  their  help. 
But  with  the  good  spirits  were  associated  evil  ones,  who  tor- 
mented him  and  made  him  afraid;  so  that  all  his  going  and  com- 
ing was  encompassed  by  a  conflict  of  invisible  powers.  In  the 
view  of  the  throng  this  fear  sank  to  a  vulgar  belief  in  ghosts,  and 
the  heavy  mist  of  superstition  cast  a  gloom  over  the  light  of 
knowledge.  Subjective  emotion  surged  in  the  breast  without 
restraint;  the  passions  of  a  heart  engrossed  with  its  own  happi- 
ness crowded  out  the  calm  consideration  of  material  needs  and 
the  rational  organisation  of  existence.  In  its  stead  there  begins 
the  development  of  a  life  of  religious  feeling.  The  idea  of  a  trans- 
cendent Deity  gives  to  human  meditation  a  tendency  toward 
vague  yearning,  and  also  at  times  the  character  of  a  dreamy 
hope;  the  immediate  world  becomes  a  mere  preparation,  the 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  99 

symbol  of  a  higher  reality  hidden  from  the  common  gaze.  But 
there  is  no  ascent  to  this  world  of  divine  truth  without  a  com- 
plete purification  from  the  sensuous;  the  subjection  of  the  sen- 
suous to  the  ends  of  the  spirit  no  longer  suffices;  rather,  its  com- 
plete eradication  is  an  indispensable  condition  of  the  highest 
good,  viz.,  fellowship  with  God. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  the  changes,  the  Greek  character  is 
still  preserved  in  the  fact  that  the  fellowship  with  God  is  under- 
stood to  be  knowledge  of  God;  for  the  Greeks  never  ceased  to 
look  upon  knowledge  as  the  essence  of  the  life  of  the  spirit.  Still, 
the  knowledge  must  be  of  a  peculiar  kind  if  it  is  to  grasp  super- 
natural or  pure  being.  At  first  the  prospect  of  success  seems 
slight;  since  "for  the  souls  of  men,  encumbered  with  bodies  and 
passions,  there  is  no  sharing  in  the  life  of  God ;  only  a  faint  hint 
may  be  obtained  by  philosophical  thought"  (Plutarch).  More 
confident  appears  the  hope  that  what  is  hidden  from  our  logical 
reasoning  may  possibly  become  accessible  to  immediate  intuition 
in  a  state  of  "enthusiasm"  or  "ecstasy."  In  this  state,  where 
man  ceases  from  all  effort  of  his  own,  and  becomes  a  mere  vessel 
for  the  divine  revelation,  the  divine  light  may  reach  him  unob- 
scured.  This  light  illuminates  the  historical  religion  also,  the 
"myth,"  and  discovers  in  it  a  profound  truth.  For  as  the  rain- 
bow is  a  vari-coloured  reflection  of  the  sunlight  upon  a  dark  cloud, 
so  the  myth  is  a  reflection  of  divine  reason  in  our  understanding 
(Plutarch).  Thus  the  cultivated  man,  too,  may  hold  the  popular 
religion  in  honour;  if  he  illuminates  it  through  and  through  with 
the  most  perfect  insight,  he  will  be  able  to  find  the  true  mean 
between  disbelief  (aBedrijs)  and  superstition  (Seia-tSaipovia). 

Accordingly,  even  in  the  religious  movement  a  philosophical 
aim  maintains  itself,  while  in  individuals  piety  and  joy  in  knowl- 
edge are  often  harmoniously  united.  Nevertheless,  in  general, 
philosophical  effort  is  not  only  outwardly  seriously  repressed, 
but  it  bears  within  itself  the  contradiction  of  forcing  the  new 
ways  of  thinking  into  the  old,  unsuitable  forms;  the  movement 
fails  as  yet  to  transcend  eclecticism  and  syncretism;  it  lacks  an 
inner  fusion  and  an  organised  development  of  the  new  bodies  of 


ioo  HELLENISM 

thought.  This  was  reserved  for  neo-Platonism,  or  rather,  for 
Plotinus. 

Before  we  turn  to  him,  however,  let  us  briefly  notice  the  at- 
tempt to  evolve  a  religious  philosophy  with  the  aid  of  an  histori- 
cal religion,  viz.,  Judaism.  In  the  national  tradition  of  Juda- 
ism, religion  possessed  a  far  greater  importance  and  was  more 
rigidly  self-contained;  it  opposed  to  philosophy  far  greater  in- 
dependence. But,  at  a  time  of  the  triumphant  supremacy  of 
Greek  civilisation,  it  was  impelled  to  seek  a  reconciliation  with 
philosophy,  alike  by  the  personal  need  of  the  cultivated  man  to 
justify  his  faith  before  the  bar  of  reason,  and  by  the  desire,  not 
yet  eradicated  by  bloody  violence,  to  make  his  ancestral  religion 
the  common  property  of  all  men.  In  this  effort  a  place  of  special 
prominence  must  be  assigned  to  Philo  of  Alexandria  (c.  25  B.C. 
to  50  A.D.),  who  was  the  first  to  undertake  on  a  grand  scale  the 
fusion  into  one  whole  of  the  faith  of  the  Orient  and  the  wisdom 
of  the  Greeks;  in  this  attempt  he  entered  upon  a  path  upon 
which  he  has  found  followers  for  centuries.  His  own  achieve- 
ment is  of  a  broad  and  discriminating  character,  but  it  does  not 
rise  above  the  plane  of  skilful  combination  to  that  of  constructive 
work. 

In  the  union  of  these  two  worlds  of  thought  Judaism  supplied 
a  fixed  body  of  doctrines  and  usages,  an  historical  view  of 
things,  a  community  of  an  ethico-religious  character,  a  piety 
already  becoming  inward;  Hellenism,  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
tributed universal  concepts,  a  strong  impetus  away  from  the 
narrowly  human  toward  the  cosmic,  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  a  de- 
light in  beauty.  In  their  mutual  interaction,  the  Hebraic  ele- 
ment received  enlargement  and  a  new  intellectuality,  the  Hel- 
lenic concentration  and  a  spiritual  inwardness;  but  in  the  total 
result  the  opposing  elements  were  forced  together  rather  than 
harmonised. 

Among  the  resulting  changes  in  the  view  of  the  world  par- 
ticularly noteworthy  is  the  altered  position  of  the  Platonic  Ideas. 
For  Plato,  these  were  independent  sovereign  forms;  with  Philo, 
they  become  thoughts  of  the  Divine  Spirit.  Accordingly,  we 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  101 

here  not  only  have  a  unity  as  a  source  of  all  multiplicity,  but  the 
whole  of  reality  is  upborne  and  animated  by  a  universal  Spirit. 
Likewise,  mighty  movements  were  introduced  by  the  fact  that 
the  powers  mediating  between  the  Deity  and  mankind  were 
combined  into  the  unity  of  the  "Logos,"  the  first-born  Son  of 
God.* 

As  regards  the  view  of  life,  the  Stoic  ideal  of  the  imperturbable 
sage  is  fused  with  that  of  the  devoutly  pious  man.  Common  to 
both  is  the  withdrawal  from  the  world  and  the  concentration 
upon  the  moral  aim.  Now,  however,  the  Greek  element  present 
in  the  new  ideal  appears  in  the  desire  for  deeper  knowledge,  even 
of  the  Deity,  and  also  in  the  desire  to  base  conduct  upon  rational 
insight;  in  the  denunciation  of  all  the  things  of  sense  as  un- 
clean, and  in  the  conviction  that  everything  that  shares  in 
change  sins.  Judaism,  on  the  other  hand,  contributes  a  more 
direct  relation  of  life  to  God,  a  stronger  sense  of  obligation,  and 
an  intensity  of  personal  feeling.  The  whole  of  life  here  appears 
under  the  figure  of  a  service  of  God ;  we  may  approach  the  spirit 
of  sublimity  only  by  perfect  artlessness  and  simplicity  of  heart, 
just  as  the  high  priest  lays  aside  his  gorgeous  robes  and  clothes 
himself  in  simple  linen  when  he  enters  the  holy  of  holies.  And 
as  the  common  relation  to  God  binds  men  closer  together,  so 
the  doing  and  the  suffering  of  the  one  may  avail  for  another;  the 
sage  appears  not  only  as  a  support,  but  as  an  atonement,  a  ran- 
som (\vrpov)  for  the  bad  man. 

Peace  and  amity  between  the  two  worlds  of  thought  could  not 
have  reigned  in  this  manner  without  the  introduction  of  an  expe- 
dient to  moderate  the  antagonisms  and  lessen  the  shock  of  their 
conflict.  This  was  found  in  an  allegorical  interpretation  of  the 
belief  handed  down  by  religious  tradition,  that  beneath  the  let- 
ter was  hidden  a  spirit  accessible  only  to  profound  insight.  Such 
a  procedure  was  not  wholly  new  in  philosophy.  Plato  and 
Aristotle  incidentally  made  use  of  it,  in  order  to  bring  their  doc- 
trines into  harmony  with  popular  beliefs;  and  the  Stoics  had 
treated  the  myth  in  this  manner  throughout.  But  the  method 
first  acquired  considerable  importance  when  religion  appeared 

*  See  Appendix  D. 


102  HELLENISM 

with  a  fixed  tradition  and  a  compact  doctrinal  content,  and 
when,  in  consequence,  its  collision  with  philosophy  created  seri- 
ous anxiety.  Now,  however,  the  allegorical  interpretation  be- 
came a  chief  means  of  reconciliation;  in  fact,  with  its  adjustment 
of  individual  freedom  and  general  conformity,  theoretical  in- 
vestigation and  historical  authority,  it  profoundly  affected  the 
whole  attitude  toward  life.  The  letter  of  tradition  was  nowhere 
tampered  with;  it  remained  an  inviolable  canon.  But  the  free- 
dom of  interpretation  permitted  philosophy  to  make  of  it  what 
it  found  to  be  necessary;  all  the  difficulties  of  inflexibility  disap- 
peared, and  strictness  of  method  gave  place  to  the  free  sway  of 
fantasy.  In  this  process,  present  and  past,  time  and  eternity, 
subjective  moods  and  objective  facts,  are  constantly  confounded ; 
a  mysterious  twilight  closes  in  about  us,  and  life  assumes  a 
dreamy  aspect.  This  dreaminess  persists  throughout  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  and  is  dispelled  only  by  the  energetic  conduct  of  life  in 
the  modern  era. 

Thus,  in  this  instance  also,  Greek  philosophy  is  operative  be- 
yond the  national  boundaries  in  spiritualising  and  universalising 
life.  Yet  everything  that  the  Hellenistic  period  accomplished  up 
to  the  beginning  of  the  third  century  after  Christ  is  mere  patch- 
work; reflection  and  simple  combination  usurp  the  place  of 
spontaneous  creation;  we  have  popular  philosophy  instead  of 
systematic,  constructive  work.  Plotinus  brings  the  change;  for 
in  him  there  again  appears  a  thinker  of  the  first  rank.* 

(b)  Plotinus 

(a)    INTRODUCTORY 

In  the  whole  line  of  great  thinkers  there  is  not  one  about  whom 
the  judgment  of  men  has  been  and  is  so  divided  as  it  is  about 
Plotinus,  the  founder  of  neo-Platonism  (205-279).  His  truly 
great  achievements  are  so  inextricably  interwoven  with  what  is 
problematic,  and  even  certainly  erroneous,  that  complete  con- 
currence concerning  him  is  nearly  everywhere  excluded;  more- 

*  See  Appendix  E. 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  103 

over,  philosophy  with  Plotinus  remains  too  much  a  matter  of 
broad  outlines;  there  is  no  advance  from  a  general  view  of  the 
world  to  exact  knowledge;  finally,  his  whole  system  is  pervaded 
with  the  conflict  between  a  soaring  abstraction  and  a  profoundly 
intimate  emotional  life.  Plotinus,  therefore,  if  his  actual 
achievement  be  regarded,  falls  far  behind  the  other  great  think- 
ers; but  if  we  penetrate  to  the  forces  underlying  his  work  and 
follow  his  influence  upon  the  development  of  the  intellectual 
world,  we  must  hold  him  equal  to  the  best.  For  then  there  ap- 
pear, often  concealed  beneath  highly  questionable  assertions, 
new  and  fruitful  intuitions;  in  fact,  even  error  now  and  then 
serves  as  the  lever  of  important  discoveries.  Intuition  consti- 
tutes the  true  greatness  of  Plotinus;  and  this  is  nowhere  so  ap- 
parent as  in  his  view  of  life.  The  impression  of  "supreme  spiritual 
power  which  emanates  from  him  increases  in  proportion  as  we 
realise  how  unfavourable  were  the  influences  of  his  age;  these 
must  inevitably  have  restrained  the  freedom  of  investigation, 
and  fostered  the  doubtful  and  fantastic  rather  than  the  true  and 
valuable  elements  of  his  work.  There  is,  indeed,  no  more  splen- 
did witness  to  the  power  of  the  Greek  spirit  than  the  fact  that 
Plotinus  could  rise  to  such  a  height  of  contemplation  from  such 
miserable  intellectual  surroundings.  Moreover,  the  profound 
influence  upon  humanity  of  his  work  as  a  whole  is  incontestable; 
here  we  have  in  its  original  conception,  and  in  the  clearness  of 
its  primitive  state,  much  that  has  moved  mankind  throughout 
nearly  two  thousand  years.  Particularly  in  his  influence  upon 
the  attitude  toward  life,  Plotinus  is  without  a  peer;  here  he 
marks  the  boundary  between  two  worlds. 

Viewed  historically,  his  work  appears  at  first  as  a  continua- 
tion and  completion  of  the  ascetic  movement  which  dominated 
later  antiquity  with  steadily  increasing  exclusiveness.  But  it 
was  with  Plotinus  that  the  movement  first  became  strong  enough 
to  result  in  a  new  construction  of  reality  and  the  creation  of  a 
characteristic  view  of  the  world.  In  fact,  the  trend  toward  re- 
ligion here  undergoes  an  ennobling  transmutation  of  its  inmost 
contents.  Hitherto  it  had  been  dominated  by  undue  solicituda 


104  HELLENISM 

for  the  happiness  of  the  individual;  infinitude  and  a  transcend- 
ent world  were  proclaimed  merely  in  order  to  lead  individuals 
from  unendurable  misery  to  bliss  and  to  secure  for  them  an  im- 
mortal life.  With  Plotinus,  on  the  other  hand,  the  individual  in 
his  isolation  appears  much  too  narrow,  insufficient,  and  help- 
less; there  arises  an  ardent  longing  for  a  new  life  springing  direct 
from  the  fulness  of  infinitude.  The  anthropocentric  character 
of  the  process  of  life  yields  to  a  cosmocentric,  or  rather  a  theo- 
centric,  character.  At  the  same  time  every  effort  is  made  to 
bridge  the  chasm  between  man  and  the  world,  between  subject 
and  object,  which  had  dominated  thought  ever  since  Aristotle; 
this  is  accomplished  by  the  transference  of  reality  to  an  inner 
life  of  the  spirit,  by  including  all  antitheses  in  a  world  process, 
from  which  everything  issues  and  to  which  everything  returns. 
Plotinus's  efforts  are  directed  toward  a  consolidation  of  Greek 
culture  and  toward  its  defence  against  all  hostile  attacks  by 
epitomising  and  intensifying  it.  What  is  peculiarly  Greek  again 
stands  out  in  stronger  relief;  indeed,  many  a  characteristic 
Greek  conviction  is  now  for  the  first  time  fully  thought  out. 
But  we  shall  see  how,  in  these  completely  altered  times,  the 
fullest  development  of  Greek  ideas  leads  to  a  total  collapse;  amid 
stormy  movements  the  Greek  character  disintegrates  with  the 
Greeks  themselves  and  a  new  epoch  is  introduced  by  their  last 
great  philosopher.  Christianity  experienced  the  direct  opposite. 
Plotinus's  mind  was  altogether  hostile  to  it;  and  his  assault  was 
the  more  dangerous,  because  it  took  place  in  the  field  of  its  own 
strength,  and  was  made  in  the  name  of  religion.  But,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  Christianity  is  indebted  to  Plotinus  for  furtherance  of 
the  greatest  importance,  since  it  not  only  drew  upon  the  world 
of  speculative  thought  extensively  in  detail,  but  also  first  found 
in  the  latter  a  general  intellectual  background  for  its  spirituality 
and  for  the  new  world  it  proclaimed.  With  the  exception  of 
Augustine,  no  thinker  exerted  a  greater  influence  upon  early 
Christianity  than  Plotinus;  consequently,  the  further  history  of 
Christianity  is  incomprehensible  apart  from  his  doctrines.  Thus 
Plotinus  experienced  with  peculiar  force  the  contradiction  which 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  105 

human  destiny  not  infrequently  exhibits:  where  he  meant  to 
build  up,  he  destroyed;  and  where  he  aimed  to  destroy,  he  built 
up. 

03)  THE  BASIS  OF  THE  VIEW  OF  THE  WORLD 

Plotinus  turns  with  fervour  and  eager  yearning  to  seek  God 
and  the  highest  good  above  and  beyond  the  immediate  world 
with  its  inconstancy  and  impurity.  Thus  the  conception  of 
other-worldliness  is  here  accentuated  to  the  last  degree;  the 
School  of  Plotinus,  in  particular,  revels  in  the  notion  of  the 
supermundane,  a  conception  which  must  have  excited  the 
amazement  of  an  ancient  Greek  much  as  the  idea  of  the  super- 
divine  would  do  a  Christian.  The  connection  with  the  tendency 
of  the  age  is  unmistakable;  but  what  in  general  remained  a  mat- 
ter of  subjective  feeling,  of  moral  and  religious  yearning,  became 
at  the  hands  of  Plotinus  a  reasoned  conviction  related  to  his 
theoretical  doctrine  respecting  the  nature  of  reality.  With  ob- 
vious dependence  upon  Plato,  but  with  an  individual  develop- 
ment of  what  he  borrowed,  Plotinus  worked  out  a  doctrine  which 
maintained  that  only  being  thought  of  as  indeterminate — being 
that  is  absolutely  nothing  but  being,  and  hence  that  precedes  and 
includes  everything — could  form  true  reality.  But  the  varied 
world  of  experience  does  not  present  us  with  such  indeterminate 
being;  hence  it  must  be  sought  for  beyond  the  world,  and  postu- 
lated as  existing  by  itself  in  transcendent  exaltation. 

If,  however,  pure  being  in  this  exalted  isolation  is  also  to  form 
the  true  essence,  the  sole  substance,  of  things,  there  results  a 
complicated  and  contradictory  condition.  What  things  present 
in  their  immediate  existence  is  not  their  true  being;  between  ex- 
istence and  essence,  accordingly,  there  is  here  a  wide  divergence, 
even  an  apparently  impassable  chasm:  this  cannot  be  spanned 
without  profound  changes  in  the  first  impression  of  the  world, 
and  without  a  wholly  new  construction  of  reality. 

But,  now,  pure  being — and  this  is  essential  to  the  Plotinian 
conception — is  identified  with  the  Deity:  to  penetrate  to  pure 
being  means  also  to  unlock  the  deep  things  of  God.  Thus 


io6  HELLENISM 

speculation  becomes  religion;  the  triumph  of  abstraction  ought 
also  to  still  the  craving  for  happiness.  Herewith  the  opposition 
between  pure  being  and  its  varied  manifestations  is  transferred 
in  all  its  harshness  to  the  relation  between  God  and  the  world. 
On  the  one  hand,  God  exists  in  unapproachable  isolation,  in- 
accessible to  appeals  and  thoughts  alike;  on  the  other,  as  being 
the  sole  reality,  He  is  the  Omnipresent,  and  that  which  is  nearest 
to  every  one  of  us;  in  truth,  He  is  nearer  to  us  than  are  our  in- 
dividual selves,  which  belong  only  to  the  world  of  phenomena. 
Thus  God  is  at  once  removed  to  the  furthest  possible  distance 
and  brought  the  closest  possible.  This  vacillation  between  op- 
posites  which  it  cannot  and  hardly  cares  to  reconcile  proclaims 
the  unclassical  character  of  the  Plotinian  view  of  the  world. 

But  such  an  extreme  opposition  cannot  continue;  the  con- 
tradiction between  God  and  the  world,  between  essence  and 
existence,  must  somehow  be  adjusted.  Several  solutions  present 
themselves:  of  the  thinkers  who,  like  Plotinus,  made  pure  being 
the  root  of  reality,  some  resolved  the  world  wholly  into  God, 
others  God  into  the  world.  Plotinus  himself — concealing  rather 
than  solving  the  contradiction — attempts  a  middle  course,  and 
ascribes  to  the  world  a  partial  reality,  less  than  that  of  God,  and 
wholly  dependent  upon  Him.  He  then  unfolds,  by  developing 
an  early  Greek  and  genuinely  Platonic  conception,  the  doctrine 
that  all  being  by  nature,  and  so  above  all  the  highest  being,  feels 
the  impulse  to  create  something  similar  to  itself,  to  produce  the 
completest  possible  representative  of  itself,  not  for  any  particular 
end,  least  of  all  a  selfish  one,  but  as  a  natural  manifestation  of 
indwelling  goodness.  But  since  the  creature,  too,  receives  this 
impulse  to  create,  the  movement  propagates  itself,  stage  is  added 
to  stage,  until  non-being  threatens  to  outweigh  being,  and  there- 
with progress  encounters  a  limit. 

Accordingly,  the  universe  is  transformed  from  mere  coexis- 
tence into  succession;  a  chain  of  life  arises,  a  realm  of  descending 
stages.  Each  succeeding  stage  is  less  than  the  preceding  one, 
for — so  Plotinus,  like  most  of  the  Greek  philosophers,  thought — 
the  perfect  cannot  originate  from  the  imperfect,  the  copy  can 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  107 

never  fully  equal  the  original,  the  higher  must  always  precede 
the  lower.  But  all  later  generation  remains  in  harmony  with 
the  original  perfection ;  whatever  is  real  is  good  in  kind,  indeed 
divine.  The  lower,  too,  in  virtue  of  its  inner  kinship  with  the 
higher,  strives  backward  toward  its  origin;  hence  there  issues 
also  from  it  a  movement  extending  throughout  the  universe,  so 
that  the  whole  of  reality  is  involved  in  a  cycle  of  occurrence. 
This  movement  is  not  temporal  in  kind,  not  a  succession  of  in- 
dividual stages,  but  a  timeless  process  of  essence  and  worth,  an 
eternal  becoming  of  the  world  out  of  God.  Thus  a  diversity  of 
ages  exists  only  in  the  sense  that  there  is  an  unending  series  of 
cycles  in  the  realm  of  phenomena.  Beyond  all  change,  however, 
eternal  being  abides  in  transcendent  majesty,  itself  unmoved, 
though  the  source  of  all  motion. 

There  appears  in  such  doctrines  a  strong  desire  to  subordinate 
the  manifold  to  a  unity,  to  elevate  human  existence  to  the  sig- 
nificance of  a  cosmic,  indeed  a  divine,  life.  The  energetic  devel- 
opment of  these  tendencies  meant  a  momentous  historical  change. 
From  the  outset  Greek  philosophy  had  taught  the  rigid  coher- 
ence of  all  reality  and  had  bidden  man  to  submit  himself  to  the 
universe.  But  the  several  spheres  of  life  touched  one  another 
externally  only;  in  his  innermost  being  each  individual  was  still 
thrown  upon  himself.  Now,  however,  an  all-embracing,  all- 
penetrating  unity  became  the  source  of  the  whole  of  life;  each 
point  became  inwardly  united  with  it;  each  particular  thing 
must  draw  its  life  from  it;  for  any  individual  being  to  separate 
itself  from  the  unity  in  selfish  isolation  meant  to  incur  the  pen- 
alty of  vacuity.  Thus  the  narrow  spheres  are  burst  asunder 
and  a  boundless  universal  life  surges  through  the  wide  expanse. 
But  this  universal  life  is  through  and  through  divine  in  its  nature; 
whether  we  seek  the  good  beyond  the  world  or  in  it  we  come 
upon  God;  all  the  various  channels  of  life  are  only  so  many 
ways  to  God;  in  each  particular  sphere  there  is  nought  of  worth 
except  that  sphere's  revelation  from  God. 

Here  for  the  first  time  we  have  a  religious  conduct  of  life 
based  upon  philosophy,  a  thoroughly  religious  world  of  thought, 


io8  HELLENISM 

a  religious  system  of  culture.  But  life,  although  one  in  its  root, 
is  divided  in  its  development  into  two  chief  tendencies,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  belief  that  the  Divine  Being  is  active  and 
accessible  in  a  twofold  manner,  namely,  immediately  in  His 
transcendent  majesty,  mediately  throughout  the  whole  universe 
according  to  its  degrees  of  subordination.  There  result  different, 
if  kindred,  realities  and  forms  of  life.  The  search  for  the  divine 
in  the  world  is  dominated  by  the  idea  of  a  pervasive  order  and 
gradation.  Each  individual  thing  has  its  fixed  position;  here  and 
here  only  it  receives  a  share  in  essential  being  and  perfect  life; 
it  receives  this  life  through  a  revelation  of  the  next  higher  stage, 
and  communicates  it  to  the  next  lower  stage;  it  can  accomplish 
nothing,  indeed  it  is  nothing,  apart  from  this  relationship.  That 
is  the  fundamental  philosophical  conception  of  a  hierarchy; 
but  it  is  also  the  origin  of  a  magnificent  artistic  conception  of  the 
world,  in  which  "the  forces  of  life  ascend  and  descend  and  hand 
to  one  another  the  golden  vessel." 

Opposed  to  this  line  of  thought  is  that  of  an  immediate  revela- 
tion of  God  beyond  the  world  of  phenomena,  in  a  sphere  where 
there  are  no  copies,  and  the  original  perfection  is  everything.  In 
this  transcendence  alone  there  is  revealed  the  whole  depth  of 
being  and  the  fulness  of  bliss.  All  mediation  has  disappeared 
along  with  the  phenomenal  world;  here  God  is  immediately  all 
in  all.  This  is  the  mystic  realm;  and  it  is  just  as  much  a  con- 
trast of,  as  a  complement  to,  the  hierarchical  order. 

(7)    THE  WORLD  AND  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

At  first  Plotinus  follows  in  the  footsteps  of  Plato,  and  distin- 
guishes matter  and  form  as  constituting  the  world's  principal 
antithesis.  Like  Plato,  too,  he  is  filled  with  a  strong  antipathy 
to  sensuous  matter,  which  fetters  us  and  drags  us  down.  He 
views  it  as  something  thoroughly  irrational,  crude,  and  animal; 
a  product  of  elemental,  non-divine  nature  (recalling  the  old  doc- 
trine of  chaos).  There  is  no  place  for  such  matter  in  a  world  of 
pure  reason;  hence  the  coherence  of  reality  is  destroyed,  and 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  109 

two  worlds  originate,  one  of  self-contained,  pure  spirituality,  and 
the  other  of  the  lower  forms  of  soul  life,  sunk  in  matter  and 
bound  to  sensuousness.  It  becomes  a  duty  sharply  to  separate 
the  two  worlds;  and  the  sensuous  is  to  be  rejected  not  only  in 
particular  forms  and  in  abnormal  developments,  but  in  every 
form  and  as  to  its  whole  nature.  Asceticism,  or  the  escape  from 
sensuous  existence,  could  not  find  a  deeper  theoretical  basis  than 
is  here  given  to  it. 

The  more  sharply  a  higher  world  separates  itself  from  the 
coarseness  and  darkness  of  matter,  the  more  powerfully  it  de- 
velops its  own  character  of  pure  spirituality.  And  spiritual  life 
attains  a  more  independent  position,  indeed  an  elevation  to  a 
self-dependent  world.  At  the  same  time,  there  begins  a  shifting 
of  all  categories  into  the  non-sensuous,  the  living,  the  inward; 
the  transformation  of  ideas  into  purely  spiritual  entities  is  taken 
in  full  earnest;  time  is  recognised  as  the  product  of  a  timeless 
soul;  even  space  seems  projected  from  the  mind  itself.  The 
process  of  life  is  now  no  longer,  as  formerly,  a  commerce  with 
an  external  although  kindred  reality;  it  is  a  movement  purely 
within  the  spirit.  Within  lie  its  problems  and  achievements, 
the  beginning  and  end  of  its  activity. 

By  such  a  transformation  the  inner  life  outgrows  the  immedi- 
ate form  of  soul  life,  and  to  the  realm  of  the  conscious  are  added 
the  realms  of  the  superconscious  and  the  subconscious.  Thus 
arise  the  three  domains  of  spirit,  soul,  and  nature — all  of  them 
stages  of  the  world-forming  inner  life.  In  this  relation,  the  lower 
is  encompassed  and  supported  by  the  higher,  nature  by  the  soul, 
the  soul  by  the  spirit,  the  spirit  by  absolute  being.  Hence  the 
soul  is  not  in  the  body,  but  the  body  in  the  soul. 

Plotinus,  however,  is  impelled  to  look  beyond  even  the  most 
general  concept  of  inner  life  to  an  all-dominating  chief  activity. 
This  he  finds,  in  accordance  with  the  old  Greek  conviction,  in 
thinking  and  knowing.  In  fact,  by  tracing  all  spiritual  being 
back  to  thinking,  and  by  resolving  even  the  stages  of  the  uni- 
verse into  stages  of  thinking,  he  develops  intellectualism  to  its 
farthest  extreme.  Thus  Plotinus,  like  Aristotle,  distinguishes 


i  io  HELLENISM 

three  chief  activities:  knowing  (Oeoypelv),  acting 
and  artistic  production  (rroitlv).  But  thinking  alone  has  gen- 
uine life;  creating  is  a  close  rival,  since  its  essence  consists  in 
filling  being  with  thought;  conduct,  on  the  contrary,  falls  far 
behind.  Only  when  executing  a  theory  has  it  a  certain  value; 
for  the  rest,  it  is  a  mere  phantom  with  which  those  may  con- 
cern themselves  who  are  not  fit  for  theory.  Thus  intellectualism 
destroys  itself  by  exaggeration.  For  here  knowledge  calls  a  halt 
only  when  it  ceases  to  be  really  knowledge  and  becomes  feeling. 
Thus  the  altered  times  force  the  Greek  view  of  life  to  give  up 
its  own  presuppositions  and  to  destroy  the  relationships  out  of 
which  it  grew.  But  amid  the  dissolution  it  leads  to  new  paths, 
and  even  in  its  downfall  it  proves  its  greatness.  But  the  defi- 
niteness  and  plasticity  which  characterised  the  ancient  conduct 
of  life  are  now  past  and  gone;  upon  the  native  soil  of  Greek 
philosophy  the  classical  is  transformed  into  a  romantic  ideal. 

But  what  significance  has  man  in  this  universe,  and  what  is 
the  purpose  of  his  life?  We  find  that  no  special  sphere  is 
assigned  to  him,  nor  is  he  occupied  with  any  particular  work. 
Life  in  common  with  his  fellows,  i.  £.,  the  social  sphere,  remains 
wholly  in  the  background.  Human  existence  receives  its  con- 
tent altogether  from  the  universe,  and  is  completely  bound  up 
with  the  destiny  of  the  whole.  In  this,  however,  man  finds  a 
peculiar  dignity,  since  he  is  enabled  to  share  inwardly  in  the  in- 
finitude of  the  universe  and  in  its  aims  and  processes.  Accord- 
ingly, there  develops  an  incomparably  higher  estimate  of  the 
human  soul.  It  is  of  like  essence  with  God  (6/*oovcrto5,  the 
same  expression  which  Christian  dogma  uses  for  Christ),  and 
hence  of  eternal  and  boundless  nature.  "The  soul  is  much  and 
everything,  as  well  what  is  above  as  what  is  below,  as  far  as  life 
extends.  And  we  are  each  of  us  an  'intelligible'  world 


Man  shares  with  the  universe  the  contrast  of  a  purely  intel- 
lectual and  a  sensuous  being.  The  human  soul  has  fallen  from 
pure  spirituality  and  is  encumbered  with  a  body;  that  involves 
it  in  all  the  perplexities  and  troubles  of  sense;  by  a  succession  of 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  in 

births  it  must  wander  and  wander,  until  a  complete  purification 
leads  it  back  to  the  world  of  ideas.  Hence  the  first  aim,  pre- 
paratory to  all  further  effort,  must  be  severance  from  sense; 
this  means  nothing  less  than  the  uprooting  of  everything  that 
binds  us  to  sensuous  existence,  or  a  complete  withdrawal  within 
the  spiritual  self.  In  the  execution  of  this  aim  there  are  not 
wanting  regulations  in  the  spirit  of  ordinary  asceticism:  thus, 
we  should  mortify  and  subdue  the  body,  in  order  to  show  that 
the  self  is  something  different  from  external  things.  But,  in 
general,  Plotinus  treats  the  question  in  the  large  sense  of  a  man 
who  does  not  insist  upon  the  outward  detail,  because  he  is  con- 
cerned above  all  with  the  whole  and  with  what  is  inward.  What 
he  requires  is  a  purification  (icd0apcn<s}  of  being,  a  complete 
alienation  of  desire  from  external  things,  an  unqualified  turning 
of  the  will  inward.  We  ought  not  to  succumb  to  the  impressions 
made  by  our  surroundings,  but  to  receive  with  indifference  what- 
ever fortune  imposes  upon  us;  superior  to  mere  nature,  and  to 
the  behaviour  of  the  crowd,  we  should  parry  the  blows  of  fortune 
like  sturdy  athletes.  Such  a  detachment  from  the  material  world 
and  from  all  external  welfare  is  at  the  same  time  an  exaltation 
into  the  realm  of  freedom.  For  our  dependence  extends  only  so 
far  as  our  entanglement  in  sensuous  existence  and  its  obscure 
compulsions;  and  it  is  open  to  us  to  abandon  that  whole  sphere, 
and  to  attain  perfect  freedom  in  a  supersensible  world. 

But  this  self-dependent  spiritual  life  finds  a  substantial  pur- 
pose in  the  gradual  progress  toward  an  increasingly  coherent 
understanding  of  things;  and  the  problem  assumes  varied  as- 
pects, since  the  chief  domains  of  reality  appear  as  stages  in  the 
work  of  life,  and  thus  place  man  in  a  progressive  development. 
Let  us  follow  rapidly  the  steps  in  this  movement. 

(5)   THE  STAGES  OF  SPIRITUAL  CREATION 

The  lowest  stage  of  inner  or  spiritual  life  is  nature.  For, 
according  to  Plotinus,  even  in  the  external  world  all  form  and 
all  life  come  from  the  soul,  which  is  active  in  matter  as  the 


ii2  HELLENISM 

formative  power;  indeed,  the  process  of  nature  is  in  its  essence 
a  soul-life  of  a  lower  kind,  a  state  of  sleep  of  the  spirit,  a  dreamy 
self-perception  of  the  world  soul. 

But  the  self-contained  life  of  the  soul  stands  free  above  mat- 
ter. The  penetrating  acuteness  with  which  Plotinus  points  out 
the  soul's  characteristics,  particularly  its  unity  and  the  self- 
activity  of  its  processes,  has  also  a  practical  application:  the 
soul-life,  namely,  produces  within  itself  its  power  and  also  its 
responsibility;  it  is  not  compelled  from  without,  but  decides  by 
its  own  faculties. 

In  distinguishing  the  spirit  from  the  soul  as  a  still  higher 
stage,  Plotinus  falls  in  with  a  strong  tendency  of  his  age.  But 
whereas  this  tendency  attained  elsewhere  only  vague  expression, 
at  his  hands  it  received  a  comparatively  exact  formulation.  Pecu- 
liar to  soul-life  in  its  narrower  sense  is  consciousness  with  its  de- 
sires and  deliberations.  But  it  is  impossible  that  consciousness 
should  be  the  essence  of  the  inner  life  and  the  source  of  truth; 
the  fountain-head  must  be  a  world  behind  consciousness.  For 
the  activity  of  consciousness  always  rests  upon  a  deeper  founda- 
tion. When  we  reflect  upon  ourselves,  we  always  come  upon  an 
already  thinking  nature,  only  it  is,  as  it  were,  in  repose;  in  order 
to  seek  for  reason,  we  must  already  possess  reason. 

In  a  similar  manner,  Plotinus  elevates  the  good  not  only  above 
all  dependence  upon  anything  external,  but  even  above  the  state 
of  subjective  feeling,  maintaining  that  it  resides  exclusively  in  a 
self-contained,  spiritual  activity.  In  the  first  place,  no  inde- 
pendent value  is  ascribed  to  pleasure.  Pleasure  is  always  pleas- 
ure in  something,  and  therefore  it  can  never  dispense  with  a 
basis  in  an  object.  The  subjective  state  is  a  consequence  of  the 
content  of  life;  effort  does  not  produce  goodness,  but  goodness 
effort.  Moral  excellence  and  happiness  do  not  require  reflective 
consciousness  nor  positive  feeling.  As  we  remain  healthy  and 
beautiful,  even  when  unconsciously  so,  so  we  do  not  need  always 
to  bear  in  mind  wisdom  and  virtue.  The  more  we  are  absorbed 
in  our  activity,  and  the  more  closely  our  condition  is  identified 
with  our  own  being,  the  more  the  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  113 

pale,  indeed  vanish.  For  we  feel  distinctly  only  what  is  alien, 
not  ourselves,  not  our  own  inmost  being.  Hence  to  become  in- 
wardly independent  means  to  free  oneself  from  the  power  of 
pleasure. 

Plotinus  remained  true  to  the  old  Greek  connection  of  happi- 
ness with  activity;  but  we  saw  that  he  did  not  understand  activ- 
ity as  a  visible  performance  affecting  one's  surroundings.  Hence, 
in  his  opinion,  no  outward  manifestation  is  needed  for  the  com- 
pletion of  virtue;  else  we  would  be  forced  to  wish  that  injustice 
should  arise,  in  order  that  we  might  exercise  justice,  distress, 
that  we  might  relieve  it,  war,  that  we  might  show  bravery.  In 
truth,  the  inner  attitude,  the  living  disposition,  constitutes  a  com- 
plete, ceaseless  activity.  Once  more  the  extreme  development  of 
a  conviction  threatens  to  destroy  its  original  form.  The  joyful, 
buoyant  spirit  of  the  Greek  looked  to  activity  alone  for  happi- 
ness. But  the  greater  the  obstacles  of  life  became,  the  further 
activity  had  to  retreat,  until  now  it  surrenders  all  relation  to  the 
environment,  and  becomes  merely  an  inner  movement  of  the 
being,  a  self-contained  attitude  of  the  mind.  It  has  now  no 
other  aim  than  the  comprehension  of  absolute  being,  the  union 
of  its  nature  with  God;  it  makes  man  indifferent  to  the  visible 
world  and  a  hermit  among  his  fellows.  Furthermore,  every 
impulse  is  wanting  for  the  improvement  of  the  conditions  of  hu- 
man existence.  Hence,  also,  the  idea  of  the  good  soars  in  a  trans- 
cendent region  high  above  the  world  of  practical  effort. 

Nowhere,  however,  is  the  change  introduced  by  Plotinus  so 
obvious  as  in  the  case  of  the  idea  of  the  beautiful.  A  predomi- 
nantly spiritual  character  had  been  attributed  to  the  beautiful 
by  Plato;  but  a  large  sensuous  element  nevertheless  entered  into 
the  elaboration.  Plotinus  was  the  first  to  take  the  conception  in 
full  earnest;  and,  as  a  result,  he  was  driven  to  a  wholly  new 
view.  Beauty,  that  is,  cannot  lie  in  proportion  (o-v/i/uerpta), 
where  thinkers  had  hitherto  sought  it.  For  then  only  composite 
things  could  be  beautiful.  But,  even  among  sensuous  objects, 
simple  things  please,  such  as  sunlight,  gold,  and  the  stars;  and, 
in  the  spiritual  realm,  relations  of  size  lose  all  meaning.  In 


ii4  HELLENISM 

truth,  the  beautiful  consists  in  the  triumphant  sway  of  the 
higher  above  the  lower,  of  the  idea  over  matter,  of  the  soul  over 
the  body,  of  reason  and  the  good  over  the  soul;  the  ugly,  on  the 
contrary,  springs  from  the  dominance  of  the  lower,  from  a  sup- 
pression of  the  idea  by  matter.  So  taken,  beauty  rests  upon  the 
good,  as  that  which  has  worth  in  itself;  and  it  must  never  relin- 
quish this  dependence.  The  outward  manifestation  becomes 
incidental,  since  beauty  does  not  arise  from  a  union  of  inner  and 
outer,  but  merely  from  the  inner  and  for  the  inner.  Artistic  cre- 
ation does  not  embody  itself  in  the  marble,  but  abides  with  itself; 
the  external  work,  the  visible  performance,  is  only  a  copy,  an  im- 
press, of  the  inner  creation  in  the  mind  of  the  artist,  and  there- 
fore inevitably  inferior  to  it.  This  transcendence  of  inner  activity 
implies  that  art  is  more  than  an  imitation  of  nature.  Rather,  it 
should  be  said,  that  nature  itself  imitates  something  higher,  and 
that  art  does  not  copy  the  sensuous  form  in  nature  but  the  reason 
active  in  the  form;  above  all,  however,  that  in  virtue  of  the 
beauty  inwardly  present  to  the  mind  of  the  artist,  art  adds  much 
from  its  own  resources,  supplementing  the  defects.  Here  we 
have  unfolded  for  the  first  time  the  conviction  that  art  builds  up 
a  new,  ideal  reality,  opposed  to  the  world  immediately  revealed 
to  the  senses.  But  this  recognition  of  its  higher  mission  did  not 
lead  Plotinus  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  art  as  an  independent  field. 
His  efforts,  even  in  the  case  of  the  beautiful,  are  much  too  exclu- 
sively directed  to  the  fundamental  relation  of  man  to  the  uni- 
verse, for  him  to  be  impelled  toward  any  particular  develop- 
ment or  any  definite  formulation.  Thus  beauty  bids  fair  to 
transcend  art,  just  as  truth  did  science,  and  goodness  practical 
activity. 

Consequently,  in  every  sphere  life  is  deepened,  there  is  a  free 
soaring  of  the  mind  above  all  material  things,  an  unreserved 
spiritualising  of  all  activity  and  creativeness.  From  being  a 
part  of  the  world,  the  life  of  the  spirit  becomes  the  sole  support 
of  the  whole  of  reality.  Yet  it  remains  in  remote  transcendence, 
without  a  nearer  definition,  or  any  visible  content.  And  from 
this  transcendent  height  Plotinus  is  forced  to  take  the  last  step, 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  115 

to  turn,  namely,  from  the  whole  realm  of  mediate  demonstration 
to  an  immediate  grasp  of  absolute  essence,  to  union  with  God. 

(€)   UNION  WITH  GOD 

The  problem  of  finding  God  in  his  innermost  being  forms  in 
this  system  the  supreme  attainment  of  life.  All  revelation  in 
and  through  the  universe  points  indeed  back  to  Him,  as  the  copy 
points  to  the  original;  but  now  the  aim  is  to  reach  immediately 
and  in  its  entirety  what  hitherto  had  been  attainable  only  piece- 
meal and  by  means  of  intermediate  steps.  Hence  it  will  readily 
be  understood  that  Plotinus's  emotional  nature,  which  hitherto 
has  entered  into  his  work  only  under  restraint,  now  wells  up 
rapturously  and  pervades  his  whole  account  with  a  passionate 
fervour.  This  last  development  means  a  return  to  ourselves  quite 
as  much  as  it  does  a  breach  with  all  that  previously  concerned 
us.  What  we  seek  is  not  far  from  us,  and  not  much  lies  between 
it  and  us;  it  is  in  fact  our  own  hitherto  estranged  nature  that  we 
seek;  let  us  accomplish  the  return  into  our  true  and  happy 
fatherland.  But  since  we  yielded  ourselves  to  strangers,  a  com- 
plete change  will  be  necessary,  an  inner  revolution;  the  new 
cannot  gradually  grow  out  of  the  old,  it  must  break  forth  sud- 
denly. "Then  may  one  believe  he  has  caught  sight  of  it  when 
the  soul  suddenly  receives  light."  Instead  of  a  continuous  up- 
ward striving,  now  it  is  calm  waiting  that  is  required.  "One 
must  remain  in  repose  until  it  appears,  and  be  only  an  observer, 
as  the  eye  awaits  the  rising  of  the  sun."  In  truth,  he  who  would 
attain  a  vision  of  the  innermost  nature  must  close  the  outward 
eye. 

But  conceptions  can  communicate  nothing  of  what  immediate 
intuition  discloses  concerning  the  Divine  Being;  only  what  He 
is  not  can  be  told;  any  further  affirmation  remains  a  mere  com- 
parison. Even  of  the  state  of  exaltation,  of  "ecstasy,"  only  fig- 
urative expressions  can  give  a  certain  idea. 

But  the  Divine  Being  may  be  brought  somewhat  nearer  by  the 
ideas  of  the  One  and  the  Good.  The  strict  notion  of  unity, 


n6  HELLENISM 

which  is  raised  far  above  the  unity  of  mere  number,  forbids 
every  kind  of  distinction  within  the  Supreme  Being.  Whence 
it  is  concluded  that  the  Absolute  Being  cannot  possess  self-con- 
sciousness, or  be  a  personality.  But  this  only  in  the  abstract. 
For  yonder  pure,  indeterminate  Being  is  in  reality  continually 
having  an  inner  life  attributed  to  it:  the  impersonal  Substance 
transforms  itself  imperceptibly  into  the  all-animating  Deity;  the 
absorption  in  infinitude  merges  into  a  complete  surrender  of  the 
heart  and  mind  to  the  Perfect  One,  and  speculative  thinking  is 
lost  in  a  profoundly  inward  form  of  religion.  Thus  Plotinus's 
world,  too,  is  far  richer  than  his  abstract  conceptions.  Hence, 
likewise,  he  does  not  hesitate  to  identify  the  idea  of  the  good 
with  the  Absolute  Being. 

But  such  difficulties  and  contradictions  as  remain  did  not  dis- 
turb Plotinus  in  his  full  surrender  to  the  Supreme  Being.  Just 
as  the  state  of  union  with  God  immeasurably  transcended  all 
other  life,  so  also  does  the  happiness  attainable  hi  it.  The  pos- 
session of  the  whole  world  would  not  counterbalance  this  hap- 
piness; and  from  this  exalted  height  everything  human  appears 
puny  and  worthless.  The  philosopher  in  fact  revels  in  the 
thought  of  exclusive  withdrawal  into  the  transcendent  unity, 
which  is  at  the  same  time  the  root  of  reality.  That  thought  here 
first  displays  the  mighty  power  over  the  human  heart  which  it 
often  displayed  later,  and  can  ever  manifest  anew.  To  rouse 
men  to  aspire  to  this  high  goal  now  becomes  the  chief  aim  of 
philosophy.  But  in  the  case  of  a  purpose  which  requires 
so  emphatically  the  devotion  of  the  whole  being,  philosophy 
can  do  no  more  than  point  the  way;  each  of  his  own  accord 
must  supply  the  will.  "The  teaching  leads  to  the  pathway 
and  to  the  journey.  The  vision  is  the  affair  of  him  who  would 
see." 

Thus  we  reach  life  upon  the  summit  of  mystic  union  with  the 
Absolute.  Plotinus  himself  regards  this  attainment  during  the 
earthly  life  as  a  rare  exception.  If  the  idea  of  God  afforded  us 
nothing  more  than  this,  it  would  but  exalt  certain  solemn  mo- 
ments of  life,  not  elevate  its  total  condition.  But,  in  truth,  by 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  117 

means  of  the  work  of  reason  the  effects  of  this  idea  extend  far 
beyond  immediate  intuition  and  result  in  a  transformation  o! 
the  whole  of  reality. 

A  powerful  influence  upon  the  whole  of  life  is  exerted  further- 
more by  the  conviction  that  in  the  Absolute  Being  all  the  contra- 
dictions of  reality  are  solved,  indeed  that  they  finally  merge 
into  one  whole.  This  has  already  been  shown  in  part;  but  some 
other  points  may  now  be  added. 

The  Supreme  Being  knows  no  movement  in  the  sense  of 
change;  rather  there  reigns  for  Him  a  perfect  peace,  a  perpetual 
repose.  But  notwithstanding  its  changelessness,  the  repose  of 
the  Divine  Being  is  not  of  an  idle  and  lifeless  sort;  it  implies  a 
ceaseless  activity,  it  is  the  highest  and  completest  life.  Hence 
there  are  united  in  this  Substratum  both  essence  and  activity. 
Also,  all  discrepancy  between  existence  and  its  cause  disap- 
pears, since  the  Absolute  Being  creates  itself,  is  its  own  cause 
(causa  sui).  Consequently,  freedom  and  necessity  also  coincide 
as  one  and  the  same.  The  Divine  Being  knows  no  chance  and 
no  uncertain  caprice,  but  also  no  dependence  on  what  is  external 
and  alien;  He  lives  solely  out  of  Himself.  By  an  ascent  to  the 
Supreme  Being,  man  too  may  share  in  such  divine  freedom, 
which  means  incomparably  more  than  the  mere  liberation  from 
sensuousness. 

Finally,  the  problem  concerning  the  rationality  of  the  actual 
world  attains  from  this  supreme  and  all-comprehensive  altitude 
a  peculiar  solution.  The  theodicy  here  offered  to  us  has,  indeed, 
borrowed  many  features  from  the  Stoics;  but  what  it  appropri- 
ates receives  a  fresh  treatment,  so  that  it  becomes  the  most  im- 
portant achievement  of  antiquity  in  this  direction. — Plotinus 
does  not  in  the  least  dispute  that  evil  is  widespread,  but  he  holds 
that  we  can  successfully  combat  it  by  making  knowledge  more 
profound.  In  the  first  place,  man  should  consider  the  problem 
not  from  the  point  of  view  of  himself,  or  of  any  part  whatever, 
but  from  that  of  the  whole;  "  One  must  look  not  at  the  wish  of 
the  individual,  but  at  the  universe";  "because  the  fire  has  gone 
out  in  thee,  it  follows  not  that  all  fire  is  extinguished."  Accord- 


n8  HELLENISM 

ingly,  all  the  lines  of  thought  of  the  Plotinian  system  are  laid 
under  contribution  in  order  to  vindicate  the  state  of  the  world: 
particularly  a  metaphysical  and  an  .-esthetic  consideration  prof- 
fer their  assistance.  Evil  in  the  strict  sense  has  no  essence;  in 
its  nature  it  is  not  anything  positive,  but  only  a  lesser  good,  a 
spoliation  of  higher  qualities,  a  defect  (eXXai/w)  in  the  good. 
Even  upon  the  lower  levels  of  reality  the  good  predominates; 
hence  it  is  better  that  these  lower  levels  exist  than  that  they  do 
not.  They  are  further  necessary  for  the  reason  that  a  manifold 
is  essential  to  the  perfection  of  the  universe,  since  in  addition  to 
the  higher  there  must  be  a  lower.  A  statue  cannot  be  all  eye, 
nor  a  painting  all  vivid  colour,  nor  a  drama  all  heroes  and  hero- 
ines. Furthermore,  although  the  individual  parts  of  the  world 
conflict  with  one  another,  the  whole  forms  a  harmony  including 
all  contradictions;  also  what  seems  to  us  men  unnatural,  belongs 
to  the  nature  of  the  whole.  Whoever  finds  fault  with  reality, 
usually  thinks  only  of  the  world  of  the  senses.  But  above  this 
world  thought  discloses  another  of  pure  spirituality  and  ideality, 
which  knows  no  evil,  and  even  elevates  and  ennobles  the  sen- 
suous world. 

Thus  the  ancient  Greek  belief  in  the  rationality  and  beauty  of 
the  universe  is  maintained  to  the  end  in  full  force.  The  last  in- 
dependent thinker  produced  by  Hellenism  holds  to  the  conviction 
that  what  is  needed  is  not  the  creation  of  a  new  world,  but 
reconciliation  to  the  present  one  by  means  of  an  enlightened  in- 
telligence. He,  too,  looks  upon  reality  as  the  finished  work  of 
reason;  here  there  is  no  room  for  great  innovations,  for  a  veri- 
table history  with  free  volition  and  progress  due  to  individual 
initiative;  in  order  to  avoid  all  unreason,  it  is  sufficient  to  pene- 
trate to  the  foundation  underlying  the  obscure  appearance  of 
things.  Thus  thought  asserts  itself  to  the  end  as  the  power 
which  reassures  man  concerning  his  destiny,  and  lifts  him  up  to 
the  Deity. 

The  more,  however,  man  lays  aside  his  peculiar  character  and 
attains  a  life  in  the  Infinite,  the  more  human  activity  is  trans- 
formed from  striving  to  possession,  from  ceaseless  progress  to 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  119 

perpetual  repose.  Rest  in  the  Absolute,  beyond  all  conflicts  and 
contradictions,  became,  amid  the  confusion  of  the  time  and  the 
sudden  decline  of  civilisation,  the  highest  aim.  The  immedi- 
ately surrounding  world  now  finds  its  principal  significance  in 
pointing  the  way  to  the  higher  world;  it  has  its  worth  not  in 
what  it  is,  but  in  what  it  reveals  as  the  sign  and  symbol  of  a 
higher  being.  It  is  owing  to  this  symbolic  character  of  the  im- 
mediately actual  world  that  allegorical  interpretation  possesses 
a  profound  justification.  And  the  ascent  from  the  sensuous  to 
the  spiritual,  from  the  image  to  the  truth,  now  becomes  the  chief 
movement  of  life. 

Just  as,  in  Plotinus's  view,  intellectual  activity  at  its  height 
passes  altogether  into  religion,  and  religion  rules  over  life,  so  it 
is  principally  religion  that  unites  Plotinus  himself  to  his  surround- 
ings, and  also  determines  his  position  in  the  historical  movements 
of  his  time.  His  attitude  toward  the  Greek  religion  was  entirely 
friendly,  since  his  doctrine  of  the  gradation  of  the  Supreme 
Being  through  a  series  of  realms  was  attractive  to  the  popular 
polytheistic  belief.  And  just  as  an  exclusive  monotheism  had 
always  conflicted  with  Greek  feeling,  so  the  strict  unity  of  the 
deepest  Ground  of  things  did  not  forbid,  even  for  a  Plotinus,  the 
assumption  of  intermediate  powers,  visible  and  invisible,  in  the 
realm  of  experience.  Possessed  of  such  a  foundation,  the  ances- 
tral religion  appeared  to  be  spiritually  deepened  and  securely 
anchored;  sympathetic  minds  could  now  hope  for  a  revival  of 
the  ancient  faith.  Religious  enthusiasm  once  again  blazed  up, 
only  to  die  down  quickly  to  a  dull  flame,  and  then  go  out  alto- 
together.  Yet  it  was  Neo-Platonism  upon  which  the  last 
attempt  at  a  restoration  (that  of  Julian),  leaned  for  support; 
its  conceptions  formed  the  last  weapons  of  dying  Hellenism. 
Thus  philosophy  loyally  bore  Greek  life  company  to  the 
end. 

The  convictions  which  united  Plotinus  to  Hellenism  neces- 
sarily separated  him  from  Christianity.  His  antagonism  toward 
the  latter  centred  upon  points  which  are  revealed  in  utterance* 
directed  against  the  Christian  Gnostics.  The  chief  criticisms  of 


120  HELLENISM 

their  doctrines  are  the  following:  i.  The  over-estimate  of  man.— 
Man  is  indeed  united  by  means  of  his  rational  nature  with  the 
deepest  foundation  of  things,  but  he  is  only  a  part  of  the  world, 
and  not  only  over  him  but  over  the  whole  world  the  divine  sway 
is  exercised.  2.  The  depreciation  and  materialisation  of  the 
world. — Whoever  attacks  the  universe  knows  not  what  he 
does  nor  how  far  his  impudence  extends.  It  is,  furthermore, 
radically  perverse  to  ascribe  an  immortal  soul  to  the  least  of 
men,  and  to  deny  one  to  the  universe  and  to  the  eternal  stars. 
3.  An  inactive  attitude. — What  is  needed  is  not  prayer  but 
effort.  If  we  shun  the  conflict,  the  bad  win  the  victory.  Even  in 
the  inner  life,  the  thing  is  to  act,  and  not  merely  to  implore  sal- 
vation. Complete  virtue,  based  upon  insight,  reveals  God  to  us. 
Without  true  virtue,  however,  God  is  an  empty  word. 

How  far  these  reproaches  are  pertinent,  and  whether,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  Gnostics,  they  apply  to  Christianity,  cannot  here  be 
discussed.  In  any  case  they  distinctly  show  that,  in  spite  of  all 
the  changes,  the  old  Greek  ideal  of  life  retains  its  chief  charac- 
teristics; namely,  the  subordination  of  man  to  the  universe,  the 
personification,  indeed  the  deification,  of  the  powers  of  nature, 
the  expectation  of  happiness  from  activity  alone,  the  esteeming 
knowledge  to  be  the  divine  power  in  man. 

In  reality,  Plotinus  is  separated  from  Christianity  even  further 
than  is  implied  in  the  above  attack;  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  exists  a  closer  relationship  than  the  antagonism  between 
them  allows  us  to  perceive.  In  both  there  is  a  thoroughgoing 
spiritualising  of  existence,  and  a  reference  of  all  life  to  God, 
but  less  in  a  spirit  of  uplifting  the  world  than  of  repelling  it. 
But  Plotinus  finds  the  spiritualising  of  existence  in  an  impersonal 
intellectual  activity,  Christianity  in  an  unfolding  of  the  personal 
life;  in  the  one,  all  welfare  comes  from  the  power  of  thought,  in 
the  other,  from  purity  of  heart.  This  fundamental  difference 
results  in  opposing  answers  to  the  most  important  questions  of 
life.  With  Plotinus,  there  is  an  abandonment  of  the  sense  world, 
exaltation  above  temporal  to  eternal  things,  and  repose  in  a 
world-embracing  vision;  in  Christianity,  eternity  enters  into 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  121 

temporal  things,  there  is  an  historical  development,  and  a  coun- 
teraction of  the  unreason  of  existence.  In  the  former,  man  dis- 
appears before  the  infinitude  of  the  universe;  in  the  latter,  he  is 
made  the  centre  of  the  whole;  there,  there  is  an  isolation  of  the 
thinker  upon  a  pinnacle  of  world-contemplation;  here,  a  close 
union  of  individuals  in  a  perfect  fellowship  of  life  and  suffering. 
However  highly  we  may  esteem  the  content  of  truth  in  Plotinus's 
ideas,  and  the  fervour  of  his  religious  feeling,  we  must  still  regard 
it  as  wholly  comprehensible  that  the  ever-increasing,  mighty 
yearning  for  religion  sought  satisfaction,  not  in  his  direction,  but 
in  that  of  Christianity. 

Plotinus  makes  us  feel  with  peculiar  force  the  profound  con- 
tradiction which  thwarted  the  efforts  of  post-classical  antiquity, 
the  contradiction,  namely,  that  the  development  of  a  transcend- 
ent spirituality  remained  conjoined  with  what  in  reality  was  an 
inanimate,  impersonal  world;  step  by  step  the  movement  was 
obstructed  by  this  impediment.  It  was  Christianity  that  first 
solved  the  contradiction,  by  revealing  a  world  corresponding  to 
the  religious  aspiration  of  the  time,  and  thereby  guiding  life's 
problem  into  new  channels.  How  much  Christianity  itself  owed 
to  Plotinus,  we  shall  consider  below. 

(£)   RETROSPECT 

We  must  again  insist  that  it  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  Plo- 
tinus without  penetrating  beneath  the  work  to  the  soul  of  the 
man.  Unless  we  look  beyond  the  first  impression,  nearly  all  his 
doctrines  provoke  contradiction,  and  only  a  world-worn,  ex- 
hausted, and  ascetic  civilisation  would  seem  in  some  measure  to 
excuse  them.  A  shirking  of  the  world's  work,  an  isolation  from 
human  society,  a  formless  intellectual  life,  a  magical  interpreta- 
tion of  nature — all  these  can  make  appeal  to  Plotinus.  True,  there 
also  spring  from  his  mode  of  thought  more  fruitful  movements : 
the  emotional  life  of  mediaeval  mysticism,  and  the  attempts  at  a 
construction  of  philosophy  from  pure  concepts,  extending  on 
into  the  nineteenth  century,  both  point  back  to  him.  But  his  real 


122  HELLENISM 

historical  achievement  is  something  apart  from  any  of  his  par- 
ticular doctrines,  indeed  is  opposed  to  some  of  them:  it  is, 
namely,  the  destruction  of  the  ancient  ideal  of  life  with  its  defi- 
niteness  of  form,  and  the  creation  of  a  new  ideal  of  spiritual 
exaltation  and  soaring  aspiration;  the  bursting  asunder  of  all 
the  fetters  imposed  by  surroundings,  and  the  substituting  of  the 
emancipation  born  of  a  pure  spirituality;  the  subjection  of  all 
forms  of  activity  to  the  control  of  a  primordial,  all-comprehen- 
sive Being.  Although  this  is  all  merely  tentative,  it  none  the  less 
prepared  the  way  for  a  new  view  of  the  world  and  a  new  conduct 
of  life;  the  individual  had  become  too  clearly  conscious  of  his 
supreme  autonomy  as  a  spiritual  being  to  make  it  possible  that 
he  should  ever  again  submit  himself  to  a  given  order  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  a  mere  member.  Beneath  these  beginnings,  hidden  by 
the  rubbish  of  a  world  fallen  into  decay,  there  lay  an  abundance 
of  vigorous  germs  which  were  destined  to  develop  under  more 
favourable  circumstances  into  mighty  forces. 

Plotinus  not  only  terminated,  and  inwardly  disintegrated,  the 
ancient  world,  not  only  supplied  Christianity  with  liberating 
forces,  and  preserved  throughout  the  Middle  Ages,  in  opposition 
to  the  externalising  influence  of  the  prevailing  organisation,  an 
undercurrent  of  pure  emotional  life,  but  his  ideas  were  an  indis- 
pensable aid  to  the  Renaissance  in  the  struggle  for  independence 
of  thought,  and  even  modern  speculation  and  modern  aesthetics 
manifest  his  influence.  Thus  Plotinus  has  been  an  effective  force 
-in  all  ages;  as  a  truly  original  thinker,  he  remains  even  to-day 
a  source  of  large  views  and  of  stimulating  suggestiveness. 

The  immediate  effects  of  Plotinus's  thought  upon  dying  Hel- 
lenism need  not  detain  us.  The  fusion  of  an  all-comprehensive 
speculation  with  a  deep  emotional  life,  the  interaction  of  religion 
and  philosophy,  were  not  bequeathed  from  master  to  disciples. 
After  Plotinus's  death  the  religious  movement  ran  off  into 
visions  and  superstition,  the  philosophical  movement  into  ab- 
stract formalism  and  empty  scholasticism.  With  the  last  burst 
of  light  in  Plotinus,  the  creative  power  of  Greece  was  finally 
extinguished. 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  123 


(c)  The  Greatness  and  the  Limitations  oj  Antiquity 

A  re*sume"  of  the  ancient  views  of  life  should  fix  attention,  not 
upon  particular  phenomena,  but  upon  the  development  as  a 
whole.  In  this  development  we  distinguished  three  periods: 
those  of  intellectual  creation,  worldly  wisdom,  and  religious  med- 
itation and  speculation.  The  post-classical  period  immeasurably 
increased  the  importance  of  the  individual,  and  strove  toward 
a  life  of  pure  inwardness.  It  was  the  first  age  to  grasp  the  essen- 
tial nature  of  both  morals  and  religion,  and  to  acknowledge 
their  independent  existence.  In  these  important  particulars, 
preparation  was  made  not  only  for  Christianity,  but  for  the 
modern  world  as  well.  The  valuation  and  treatment  of  the 
above-mentioned  periods  has  vacillated  considerably  in  modern 
times.  When  Humanistic  enthusiasm  brought  into  strong  relief 
the  difference  between  antiquity  and  the  modern  world,  and 
sought  to  derive  from  the  former  a  fresh  impetus  toward  creative 
work,  it  was  the  classical  epoch  that  fixed  the  attention  and 
called  forth  admiration;  but  when  men  turned  to  antiquity  for 
the  instruction  and  culture  of  the  individual  soul,  then  it  was 
the  later  epochs  which  had  a  powerful  influence.  In  the  period 
of  the  Enlightenment,  the  writings  of  a  Lucretius  and  a  Seneca, 
a  Plutarch  and  a  Marcus  Aurelius,  were  in  the  hands  of  all  cul- 
tivated persons.  Since  the  rise  of  modern  Humanism,  however, 
that  is  no  longer  the  case.  But  do  not  the  more  vigorous  devel- 
opment of  the  individual  and  the  intensifying  of  life  which  we 
are  experiencing  to-day  bring  us  again  nearer  to  later  antiquity  ? 
So  much  is  certain :  the  historical  view  must  estimate  antiquity 
as  a  whole;  and  its  appreciation  will  only  be  enhanced,  if,  in- 
stead of  staring  fixedly  at  a  single  zenith  of  glory,  as  if  this  zenith 
were  a  miraculous  gift  of  destiny,  it  looks  with  discrimination 
and  discerns  great  movements  and  changes  within  the  whole, 
and  discovers  everywhere  eager  effort  and  severe  labour  and 
struggle. 

But  all  the  differences  of  epochs  do  not  rob  antiquity  of  an 


124  HELLENISM 

inner  relationship  and  a  permanent  basis:  the  divergences  are 
all  within  a  common  content  of  life. 

For  all  the  Greek  views  unite  in  regarding  activity  as  the  soul 
of  life.  The  activity,  indeed,  takes  various  forms,  and  finds  its 
centre  of  gravity  in  different  spheres;  in  the  course  of  centuries 
it  retreats  further  and  further  behind  immediate  existence,  yet 
ever  remains  the  chief  thing;  it  is  always  the  criterion  of  the  suc- 
cess of  life.  It  is  by  activity  that,  for  the  most  part,  man  knows 
that  he  lives  amid  great  relationships  and  under  the  protection 
of  Deity.  But  the  origin  and  essence  of  activity  lie  with  the 
man  himself;  his  own  force  must  awaken  the  divinity  of  his 
nature  and  guide  it  to  victory  over  his  lower  self.  Even  in  the 
perversions  of  asceticism  and  mysticism,  the  issue  remained 
with  man;  his  own  exertion  was  to  win  happiness.  Such  con- 
victions imply  a  firm  faith  in  the  power  and  nearness  of  good- 
ness, and  they  clearly  testify  to  a  strong  vitality,  a  joy  in  being, 
a  delight  in  the  unfolding  of  power.  Here  the  multiplication  of 
obstacles  has  not  broken  the  will  to  live;  certain  kinds  of  life, 
indeed,  are  rejected,  but  in  the  rejection  life  itself  is  affirmed; 
complete  extinction,  in  the  sense  of  the  Hindoo,  is  not  what  is 
sought.  Even  the  ever-increasing  desire  for  the  assurance  of 
immortality  attests  the  power  of  the  vital  impulse  and  shows  a 
tenacious  clinging  to  life.  Indeed,  in  the  Greek  hopes  of  im- 
mortality, there  is  far  more  a  desire  of  prolonging  the  present 
than  there  is  a  conception  of  a  wholly  new  kind  of  being.  The 
philosophical  doctrines  reflect  that  focussing  upon  this  life 
of  the  belief  in  immortality  which  is  seen  in  the  ancient  sar- 
cophagi, themselves  already  belonging  to  a  period  when  life 
was  overspread  with  gloom.  For  they  clothe  death  with  the 
varied  wealth  of  life;  they  hold  fast  to  existence,  by  ennobling 
it  and  elevating  it  into  an  ideal  sphere. 

From  such  a  delight  in  life  and  in  activity  there  springs  a  tri- 
umphant youthfulness;  it  is  the  fountain-head  of  that  astonish- 
ing elasticity  of  mind  which  ever  rebounds  from  tne  hardest  ob- 
stacles ready  for  fresh  achievements.  Whatever  life  offers  that  is 
great  and  good,  is  seized  and  developed.  True,  such  a  vigorous 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  125 

affirmation  of  life  has  as  its  reverse  side  a  harsh  insensibility 
toward  the  suffering  and  darkness  of  life.  Impediments  indeed 
are  not  underestimated,  and  the  consciousness  of  them  steadily 
increases.  But  life's  wisdom  is  always  found  in  the  keeping  of 
what  is  hostile  at  a  distance,  and  in  the  raising  oneself  above  the 
sphere  of  its  power.  On  the  other  hand,  what  is  hostile  is  not 
taken  up  into  the  soul  of  the  life-process,  and  utilised  for  further 
development;  no  transformation,  no  inner  exaltation,  spring 
from  suffering.  This  inner  growth  is  wanting  principally  for 
the  reason  that  Greek  conceptions,  while  indeed  conversant  with 
the  great  problems  of  mind  in  its  relation  to  the  surrounding 
world,  know  nothing  of  serious  inner  conflicts;  the  dominant 
interest  is  in  that  relation,  not  in  the  mind's  relation  to  itself  and 
to  its  own  ideality.  Here  there  reigns  a  secure  and  joyful  faith 
in  the  power  and  glory  of  the  human  mind.  The  intellectual 
faculties,  just  as  we  have  them,  are  recognised  to  be  good;  all 
that  is  needed  in  order  to  ward  off  everything  hostile  and  to  sub- 
ordinate man's  sensuous  nature,  is  their  vigorous  development 
and  a  clear  consciousness.  The  view  that  the  mind  by  the  un- 
folding of  its  powers  subjugates  nature,  and  moulds  it  into  an 
expression  of  itself,  here  forms  the  essence  of  life's  work;  hence 
it  is  possible  for  the  idea  of  the  beautiful  to  become  the  central 
conception  of  creative  effort.  No  inner  transformation  is  neces- 
sary with  such  a  conception;  there  is  no  basis  for  a  growth 
through  agitation  and  suffering,  a  passing  through  negation,  a 
resurrection  through  self-abnegation. 

The  intimate  union  of  truth  and  beauty,  of  penetrating  knowl- 
edge and  artistic  creation,  which  distinguishes  all  Greek  work, 
characterises  also  the  Greek  views  of  life.  Its  profoundest  aspect 
is  the  searching  out  of  the  essential  and  the  eternal;  this  lends 
to  life  a  secure  foundation  and  an  enduring  repose,  and  also 
transforms  the  chaotic  appearance  of  things  into  a  glorious 
cosmos.  The  contemplation  of  the  order  of  the  universe  with 
its  perfected  harmony,  the  joy  in  the  "  eternal  grace,"  becomes 
the  highest  reach  of  life. 

Such  a  view  of  life  may  satisfy  man  where  he  is  either  sur- 


126  HELLENISM 

rounded  by  an  imposing  present,  or  his  thought  creates  out  of 
the  change  and  flow  of  existence  an  eternal  present.  The  visi- 
ble, rational  present  had  ceased  to  exist  for  Greek  life;  hence 
philosophy  sought  with  only  the  greater  energy  to  hold  fast  to  an 
invisible  one.  But  it  had  to  make  ever  more  powerful  efforts  in 
order  to  do  so;  the  world  of  essence  and  of  beauty  ever  receded 
further  into  the  distance;  ideas  steadily  lost  perceptible  con- 
tent; human  existence  grew  continually  more  empty.  Thus  it 
came  to  be  a  grievous  defect  in  the  Greek  conduct  of  life  that  it 
possessed  no  power  of  building  up  a  new  world;  that  with  its 
lack  of  the  idea  of  progress,  it  possessed  no  possibility  of  a  thor- 
oughgoing reconstruction,  possessed  no  future  and  no  hope. 
The  narrow  confines  of  the  world  must  have  weighed  upon  man 
as  an  unendurable  burden,  so  soon  as  the  needs  and  wrongs,  so 
soon,  above  all,  as  the  inner  emptiness  of  existence  were  dis- 
tinctly felt. 

We  saw  that  the  Greek  thinkers  fought  against  such  dangers 
like  stalwart  heroes,  and  unflinchingly  upheld  the  old  ideals 
amid  all  the  changes.  But  even  they  could  not  burst  the  bonds 
imposed  by  the  common  national  character;  the  foundations  of 
the  Greek  view  of  life  were  much  too  firm  and  unyielding  to 
adjust  themselves  to  the  new  demands;  hence  the  time  inevitably 
came  when  mankind  turned  from  them,  and  seized  upon  new 
ideals.  The  possibilities  of  life  within  the  sphere  of  Greek  civi- 
lisation were  exhausted;  the  decline  could  not  be  prevented. 

Still,  the  realisation  that  decadence  was  inevitable  cannot 
restrain  a  feeling  of  profound  sadness  at  the  extinction  of  so 
much  intellectuality  and  beauty.  It  may,  however,  serve  to 
lessen  our  melancholy,  if  we  consider  that  the  inevitable  dissolu- 
tion freed  the  several  elements  of  Greek  civilisation  from  the 
peculiar  union  which  had  thus  far  bound  them  together,  and  so 
enabled  them  to  enter  into  new  relations  and  to  produce  their 
natural  fruits.  Wholly  typical  is  the  heroic  energy  with  which 
the  Greek  mind  explored  the  height  and  depth  of  human  expe- 
rience, clearly  and  steadfastly  pursued  to  the  end  all  the  direc- 
tions which  it  took,  and  sketched  in  outlines  full  of  genius  repre- 


POST-CLASSICAL  ANTIQUITY  127 

sentative  views  of  life,  which  exhaust  the  chief  possibilities  of 
human  existence,  and  hence  form  permanent  elements  of  the 
further  work  of  humanity.  Typical  also  is  the  spirit  of  beauty 
which  pervades  those  views  and  irradiates  from  them.  We  have 
here  in  mind  not  only  the  lucidity  and  charm  of  delineation 
which  distinguishes  most  of  them,  but  also  their  imperishable 
realisation  of  the  universal  power  of  form,  and  the  fact  that 
by  means  of  the  beautiful  a  peculiar  illumination  of  the  whole 
of  life  is  achieved.  The  perception  of  beauty  becomes  the 
type  of  all  genuine  intellectual  life;  as,  in  the  sphere  of  beauty, 
a  secure  repose  unites  with  ceaseless  movement,  indeed,  is  repose 
in  the  midst  of  movement,  so  the  same  harmony  is  set  before  all 
the  aspects  of  life  as  an  ideal.  Just  as  beauty  pleases  in  itself, 
and  not  on  account  of  anything  it  does,  so  intellectual  labour  is 
undertaken  for  itself,  not  on  account  of  any  use  to  which  it  may 
be  put.  And  the  good  is  desired  for  the  sake  of  its  inner  beauty, 
without  any  thought  of  reward,  and  evil  rejected  as  being  in  its 
nature  ugly.  Thus  there  gradually  detaches  itself  from  the 
ancient  views  we  have  considered  the  picture  of  a  thoroughly 
refined  life,  at  once  strong  and  temperate  and  upborne  by  the 
deep  seriousness  of  a  joyful  faith. 

We  saw  that  it  was  necessary  for  the  whole  ancient  scheme  of 
life  to  dissolve,  in  order  to  prepare  for  new  forms.  But  that 
does  not  mean  that  it  may  not  forever  attract  and  stimulate  us. 
For  the  ancient  conduct  of  life  possesses  an  incomparable  and 
imperishable  character  in  the  fact  that  it  develops  with  youthful 
freshness  the  simple,  healthy,  natural  view  of  things;  and  that 
in  it  the  first  impression  of  the  human  state,  its  experiences  and 
conditions,  are  reflected  in  perfect  purity.  Even  though  the  ex- 
periences of  adversity  and  the  revelation  of  hitherto  unknown 
depths  have  carried  us  beyond  that  first  impression,  we  are  al- 
ways being  forced  to  come  to  terms  with  it  anew,  indeed,  we 
must  appropriate  it  as  a  part  of  our  own  life,  if  the  further  de- 
velopment is  to  retain  its  plasticity  and  truth.  Thus  antiquity 
can  the  more  readily  render  us  an  invaluable  service,  because, 
with  the  working  out  of  a  natural  view  of  things,  it  at  the  same 


128  HELLENISM 

time  transcends  that  view.  For  its  own  movement  inevitably 
brings  on  a  crisis  and  catastrophe:  the  inner  spirit,  which  it  de- 
velops in  ever-increasing  strength,  at  length  necessitates  the 
severance  of  the  ties  binding  it  to  the  old  body,  and  destroys  all 
the  old  presuppositions.  Antiquity  is  thus  comparable  to  a 
tragic  hero  who,  by  his  very  downfall,  upholds  and  gives  fresh 
strength  to  the  cause  for  which  he  wrought.  So,  here,  out  of  all 
the  confusion  of  the  historical  situation  there  shines  forth  with 
ever-increasing  distinctness  a  world  of  pure  inwardness;  in  it 
the  truth  of  the  old  world  also  may  find  an  imperishable  resurrec- 
tion. Hence,  although  something  temporal  is  lost,  the  eternal 
abides,  and  even  upon  the  stage  of  history  a  new  life  rises  out  of 
the  ruins  of  the  old. 


PART  SECOND 
CHRISTIANITY 


CHRISTIANITY 

9 

A.  THE  FOUNDATION 
I  THE  GENERAL  CHARACTER  OF  CHRISTIANITY 

(a)  Introductory  Considerations 

SOME  sort  of  consideration  of  the  general  character  of  Chris- 
tianity is  indispensable  as  an  introduction  to  the  views  of  life 
which  have  grown  up  on  Christian  soil.  First  of  all,  however, 
we  must  examine  the  question  whether  these  views  of  life  actually 
spring  from  the  Christian  religion,  or  merely  accompany  it  as 
the  product  of  other  factors.  Without  doubt,  a  religion  is  not 
primarily  a  view  of  the  world  and  of  life,  a  doctrine  of  divine 
and  human  things.  Rather,  it  is  the  creation  of  a  distinctive 
world  of  reality,  the  development  of  a  new  life  under  the  domi- 
nant conception  of  a  higher  sphere.  The  life  that  here  grows  up 
is  conscious  of  being  raised  far  above  mere  doctrine,  and  it  will 
at  all  times  stoutly  defend  its  independence  of  the  latter.  But 
it  could  not  be  of  an  enlightened  sort  without  possessing  in  itself 
and  developing  from  itself  convictions  respecting  the  sum-total 
of  human  existence.  Every  higher  religion  brings  about  an  in- 
version of  the  immediate  world,  and  changes  the  standpoint  of 
life.  It  does  not  rest  upon  metaphysic,  it  is  itself  a  sort  of  meta- 
physic,  the  revelation  of  a  new,  a  supernatural  world.  Such  a 
complete  change  is  impossible  without  an  effort  of  the  whole 
man,  without  a  decision  affecting  the  whole  of  his  being,  and  the 
change  cannot  justify  itself,  either  to  the  man  himself  or  to 
others,  unless  this  decision  is  translated  into  thoughts,  unless  the 
type  of  life  is  developed  into  a  view  of  life. 

This  necessity  is  not  to  be  evaded  by  confining  religion  to  a 

131 


i32  CHRISTIANITY 

particular  sphere,  by  treating  it  as  something  which  offers  the 
individual  a  refuge  from  trials,  but  which  leaves  untouched  the 
whole  of  the  intellectual  life  and  the  work  of  shaping  civilisation. 
Not  even  as  an  individual  could  man  find  support  and  content- 
ment in  a  detached  religion.  For  in  virtue  of  his  intellectual 
nature,  in  virtue  of  his  implication  in  the  destiny  of  the  world, 
both  his  experience  and  his  activity  have  reference  to  the  uni- 
verse; hence  he  can  find  no  rest  for  himself  without  being  at 
peace  with  the  world.  Every  attempt  on  the  part  of  religion  to 
intrench  itself  within  a  separate  sphere  exposes  it  sooner  or  later 
to  the  suspicion  of  not  possessing  the  full  truth,  of  not  being  wor- 
thy of  the  allegiance  of  our  souls.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  every  re- 
ligion proclaims  its  teaching,  not  as  co-ordinate  with  other 
truths,  but  as  the  very  core  and  centre  of  all  truth,  as  that  which 
far  transcends  all  else.  But  even  this  estimate  necessarily  implies 
a  view  of  the  universe.  Furthermore,  religion  could  not  assume 
the  position  of  the  chief  concern  of  life  without  expanding  its 
own  content  into  a  world.  Thus,  for  example,  if  it  finds  that 
content  altogether  in  morals,  then  moral  conduct  not  only  de- 
velops simultaneously  with  it  into  a  harmonious  whole  superior 
to  all  distraction,  but  also  into  the  expression  of  a  new  world 
transcending  all  the  activity  of  the  world  of  experience;  it  be- 
comes of  itself  a  metaphysic.  Accordingly,  since  religion  is  al- 
ways an  affirmation  respecting  the  last  things,  it  cannot  do  with- 
out the  formation  of  corresponding  views  of  life. 

But  do  we  find  so  much  affinity  between  the  various  forms 
and  aspects  of  Christian  belief  that  we  can  speak  of  a  view  of 
life  common  to  Christianity  ?  Manifestly,  no  other  religion  has 
departed  so  far  from  its  beginnings,  nor  become  in  itself  so 
deeply  disrupted,  as  Christianity.  Nevertheless,  attempts  have 
been  made  to  defend  the  uniformity  of  its  character,  particularly 
by  two  opposite  lines  of  argument.  One  makes  a  touchstone  of 
the  earliest  form  of  Christianity,  and  in  the  later  developments 
admits  the  genuineness  only  of  what  agrees  with  that  form;  the 
other  finds  the  bond  of  union  in  the  historical  continuity;  it 
holds  by  the  immediate  sequence  of  one  form  from  another,  and 


THE  FOUNDATION  133 

accordingly  must  accept  as  Christian  everything  which  belongs 
to  the  succession.  Each  of  these  methods  doubtless  possesses 
a  certain  justification;  but,  taken  alone,  neither  will  suffice. 
The  first  criterion  is  too  narrow,  the  second  wholly  unreliable. 
Like  each  of  the  phases  of  the  development,  the  beginnings  con- 
tain much  that  belongs  to  the  general  conditions  of  the  age  and 
to  the  state  of  intellectual  progress  at  the  time;  and  it  would  be 
impossible  to  confine  all  movement  within  these  early  limits, 
and  prevent  every  effort  to  rise  above  them.  Still  less  will  it  do 
simply  to  go  to  an  extreme  with  the  history;  for  Christian  his- 
tory was  by  no  means  determined  solely  by  the  proper  exigencies 
of  religion;  it  may  very  well  be  that  other  factors  outweighed 
those  of  religion,  and  that  in  the  accommodation  to  human 
affairs  the  best  part  of  its  content  was  sacrificed.  The  dilemma 
vanishes  only  upon  our  realising  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  distor- 
tion on  the  part  of  man,  historical  phenomena  and  movements 
have  an  eternal  truth,  a  central  fact  of  spiritual  life,  underlying 
and  working  through  them  with  indestructible  power.  Only 
such  a  super-historical  truth  can  hold  history  together;  only  to 
such  a  truth  can  we  perpetually  recur  without  sacrificing  the 
living  present  to  the  past.  Hence  it  is  necessary  to  separate 
the  intellectual  substance  of  religion  from  the  human  modifica- 
tions of  its  form,  if  we  would  possess  a  common  groundwork  of 
truth  with  which  to  confront  every  kind  of  disunion  and  hostility. 
Such  a  groundwork  is  clearly  enough  recognisable  in  Chris- 
tianity, particularly  when  it  is  compared  with  other  religions. 
Thus,  it  is  not  a  religion  of  law  but  of  salvation;  and  as  such  it 
is  not  content  merely  with  organising  and  stimulating  existing 
forces,  but  demands  a  wholly  new  world  and  completely  regen- 
erated men.  Furthermore,  this  religion  of  salvation  is  not  of  an 
ontological  but  an  ethical  sort;  that  is,  its  aim  is  not,  like  the  re- 
ligions of  India,  to  penetrate  beyond  a  world  of  illusion  to  one 
of  eternal  verities;  rather  it  views  the  whole  of  reality  under  the 
contrast  of  good  and  evil,  and  demands  a  new  world  of  love  and 
mercy.  Accordingly,  all  the  facts  and  problems  of  life  assume 
a  distinctive  form.  Finite  existence  is  not  degraded  by  it  to  an 


i34  CHRISTIANITY 

unreal  appearance,  but  rather  immeasurably  exalted  in  signifi- 
cance, inasmuch  as  it  teaches  that  the  eternal  enters  into  the 
temporal  and  there  reveals  its  innermost  depths,  inasmuch  as  it 
holds  that  a  union  of  the  divine  and  the  human  begins  even  in 
this  world.  Such  ends  cannot  be  set  forth  by  Christianity  with- 
out an  abrupt  and  irreconcilable  breach  with  the  existing  state 
of  the  world,  indeed  with  the  whole  natural  order;  nor  without 
its  reiterating  the  imperative  demand  for  a  new  world.  It 
thereby  directs  men's  thoughts  above  everything  visible  and 
present  to  an  invisible  and  future  order.  But  this  breach  with 
the  world  is  not  equivalent  to  asceticism,  nor  does  the  demand 
for  a  better  future  mean  an  estrangement  from  the  present.  For 
the  fundamentally  ethical  character  of  Christianity  causes  its 
spiritual  superiority  to  the  world  to  become  at  the  same  time 
constructive  of  a  higher  world.  What  the  future  alone  can 
bring  to  full  fruition  is  already  present  in  disposition  and  in 
faith — more  intimately  present  than  the  present  of  the  senses; 
as  such,  it  impels  men  with  an  elemental  force  toward  the  up- 
building of  a  new  world,  toward  work  on  a  kingdom  of  God  in 
the  very  midst  of  the  temporal  misery  of  human  life.  Thus,  in 
addition  to  inwardness  and  tenderness  life  now  possesses  activ- 
ity and  gladness. 

These  various  features  are  closely  interdependent,  and  taken 
together  produce  a  thoroughly  characteristic  type  of  life.  To  be 
sure,  the  historical  conditions  force  now  this,  now  that  side 
more  into  prominence;  they  may  even  cause  the  entire  move- 
ment to  deviate  widely  from  the  ideal  view  of  the  whole.  But 
that  throughout  all  change  and  distortion,  throughout  all  com- 
plication and  disruption,  such  an  ideal  is  present  and  exerts  a  con- 
trolling influence,  we  must  now  attempt  to  show  more  in  detail. 

(b)  The  Fundamental  Facts 

The  Christian  life  finds  its  chief  task,  not  in  its  relation  to  the 
world,  but  in  its  relation  to  God,  the  perfect  Spirit;  fellowship 
with  God  becomes  the  centre  of  all  activity  and  the  source  of 


THE  FOUNDATION  135 

all  happiness.  That  God  is,  and  that  man  stands  in  relation  to 
Him,  are  here  at  least  as  obvious  and  certain  as  the  existence  of 
a  world  around  them  was  to  the  Greeks.  The  process  of  life 
itself  so  immediately  manifests  the  working  of  the  highest  Spirit 
that  any  special  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God  appear  both 
superfluous  and  inadequate;  only  the  wish  for  an  exoteric  justi- 
fication could  invest  them  with  a  certain  value. 

In  his  relation  to  God  man  is  completely  subordinated;  and 
in  this  respect  he  cannot  lay  claim  to  any  kind  of  egoistic  being. 
But  such  absorption  in  the  fellowship  with  God,  such  surrender 
of  all  separate  existence,  is  after  all  something  radically  different 
from  the  complete  extinction  of  all  individual  being  in  the  abso- 
lute essence,  which  is  the  result  in  mystic  speculation.  The 
Christian  plan  of  life  does  not  rob  the  individual  of  substantial 
being;  rather,  notwithstanding  his  subordination,  it  preserves, 
and  indeed  immeasurably  enhances,  his  independent  worth. 
For  the  infinite  distance  between  the  perfect  Spirit  and  wholly 
imperfect  man  does  not  prevent  an  intimate  relation  and  a 
communication  of  the  fulness  of  the  divine  life.  Such  a  com- 
munication from  being  to  being  gives  rise  to  a  new  kind  of  life, 
a  kingdom  of  love  and  faith,  a  transformation  of  existence  into 
pure  inwardness,  a  new  world  of  spiritual  goods.  In  contrast 
with  the  previous  state,  this  new  life  becomes  a  serious  under- 
taking; in  its  interests,  there  are  endless  things  to  do,  to  set  in 
motion,  and  to  alter.  Moreover,  it  requires  ceaseless  exertion  to 
maintain  the  height  which  has  been  reached.  At  the  same  time, 
fellowship  with  the  perfect  Spirit  brings  a  joy  and  blessedness 
which  far  surpass  all  other  happiness.  Further,  this  life,  in  its 
inner  superiority  to  all  other  experiences,  carries  with  it  the 
certainty  that  the  Power  whence  it  springs  rules  all  the  world, 
indeed  is  the  origin  of  all  reality.  The  spirit  of  infinite  love  and 
goodness,  the  ideal  of  free  personal  being,  is  also  the  all-powerful 
Spirit,  the  world-creating  Power.  As  the  work  of  omnipotent 
goodness,  the  world  cannot  be  other  than  perfect,  perfect  not 
only  in  the  sense  that  under  given  conditions  the  highest  possible 
has  been  reached,  out  of  given  materials  the  best  possible  pro- 


136  CHRISTIANITY 

duced,  but  perfect  in  the  strict  sense  of  realising  all  the  demands 
of  reason.  So,  too,  as  regards  man,  we  may  have  faith  that  the 
winning  of  that  inner  life  includes,  or  brings  as  a  consequence, 
all  other  life;  that  the  omnipotent  love  is  forming  the  whole 
world  into  a  kingdom  of  God. 

But  the  more  completely  reality  is  transformed  from  within 
and  exalted,  the  harsher,  the  more  unendurable,  become  the  con- 
tradictions of  experience;  intimately  connected  with  the  all- 
important  fact  of  the  new  life  is  the  perception  that  this  world  is 
the  source  of  serious  hindrance  and  even  of  danger  for  it.  Mis- 
ery and  unreason  not  only  surround  us  without,  they  assail  even 
the  inner  life,  and  evil  appears  not  only  as  a  mere  limitation 
and  diminution  of  the  good,  but  as  a  directly  antagonistic  force 
and  a  complete  perversion  of  it.  A  deep  chasm  divides  the  world ; 
the  triumph,  indeed  the  very  continuance,  of  reason  seems  to  be 
threatened.  The  principal  question  is  not,  as  with  the  Greeks, 
the  relation  of  the  mind  to  its  environment,  but  its  relation  to 
itself,  its  attitude  toward  its  own  ideality,  as  determined  by  the 
fellowship  with  God.  The  ultimate  ground  of  all  evil  is  the 
rending  asunder  of  that  fellowship,  the  revolt  and  the  disobe- 
dience of  man.  Here  evil  has  its  deepest  root,  not,  as  with  the 
Greeks,  in  matter  and  a  degrading  sensuousness,  but  in  free 
guilt;  hence  it  is  enormously  intensified.  The  question  how 
such  estrangement  and  disobedience  are  possible,  and  whether 
in  the  end  evil  itself  may  not  be  adjusted  to  the  divine  plan  of 
the  world,  has  caused  Christendom  endless  pondering  and  study. 
At  the  same  time,  there  existed  the  strongest  distrust  of  any  pro- 
tracted discussion  of  such  questions,  and  an  anxiety  lest  an  ex- 
planation of  evil  might  weaken  the  seriousness  with  which  it 
was  legarded,  and  hence  also  the  vigour  of  the  conflict  against  it. 
The  result  was  that  the  ascription  of  evil  to  a  free  act  was  ad- 
hered to,  while  the  question  of  the  compatibility  of  a  world 
devastated  by  guilt  with  the  sway  of  omnipotent  goodness  re- 
mained unanswered.  Thus  the  enigma  of  the  origin  of  evil  is 
left  unsolved  also  by  Christianity. 

But  the  Christian  life  could  the  more  readily  allow  this  problem 


THE  FOUNDATION  137 

to  fall  into  the  background,  since  it  brought  all  its  energy  to  bear 
upon  the  actual  combating  of  evil,  and  since  in  its  own  inward- 
ness it  was  lifted  securely  above  the  domain  of  the  conflict  and 
above  all  unreason.  This  exaltation  it  could  not  attain  by  itself; 
the  world  is  too  completely  pervaded  with  unreason  and  too 
much  broken  in  its  spiritual  capacities  for  that.  Accordingly, 
there  was  no  hope  of  reaching  the  goal  by  a  slow  ascent,  a  grad- 
ual accumulation  of  forces.  Rather,  the  reinstatement  of  the 
right  relation  to  God — upon  which  everything  here  depends — 
must  proceed  solely  from  the  Deity;  and  even  He  cannot  effect 
the  restoration  by  an  interference  from  without,  but  must  de- 
scend into  the  world  of  conflict,  and  there  break  the  power  of 
evil,  there  reveal  Himself  more  completely  than  heretofore. 
This  takes  place,  according  to  the  Christian  view,  in  such  a 
manner  that  God  lays  hold  of  the  world,  not  by  means  of 
special  powers  and  manifestations,  but  by  the  full  plenitude  of 
personal  life,  and  rescues  humanity  from  the  power  of  evil  by 
entering  into  the  most  intimate  union  with  human  nature,  free- 
ing it  from  all  suffering  and  darkness  by  transplanting  an  inner- 
most core  of  human  essence  into  the  divine  life.  But  this  inner 
victory  over  suffering  and  darkness  cannot,  according  to  the 
ecclesiastical  view,  be  accomplished  by  the  divine  Spirit  without 
taking  the  burden  in  all  its  weight  upon  Himself.  Thus  the 
idea  of  a  divine  suffering  becomes  for  that  view  the  profoundest 
mystery  of  Christianity.  In  the  supreme  crisis  the  divine  Spirit 
seems  to  bow  before  the  dominant  power  of  evil.  But  the  dark- 
ness endures  not;  the  apparent  defeat  is  soon  followed  by  exalta- 
tion, the  Spirit  manifests  its  superiority  by  a  complete  triumph, 
and  leads  the  good  to  final  victory.  At  the  same  time  it  appears 
that  only  through  such  painful  and  extreme  suffering  could  the 
whole  depths  of  the  new  world  be  revealed,  and  the  full  security 
of  the  new  life  be  won.  Thus,  the  transformation  is  at  first  only 
inward;  it  appears  barely  to  touch  the  visible  world.  Evil  by 
no  means  disappears  even  now;  it  persists  and  opposes  the  new 
order.  But  its  roots  have  been  severed;  it  no  longer  has  the 
power  to  prevent  the  upbuilding  of  a  kingdom  of  God  also  in 


138  CHRISTIANITY 

this  world.  Such  upbuilding  is  visibly  aided  by  the  new  com- 
munity of  the  church,  which  is  exclusively  determined  by  the 
relation  to  God;  in  the  midst  of  an  indifferent  or  hostile  world, 
this  community  preserves  the  connection  with  the  invisible 
kingdom  of  God,  and  unites  men  to  one  another  in  the  closest 
manner  through  love,  faith  and  hope.  Yet,  even  after  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  good  in  human  society  has  been  achieved  by  such 
means,  life  still  retains  the  character  of  a  ceaseless  conflict; 
only  the  outlook  into  the  future,  only  the  invincible  hope  of  a 
new  world,  bears  us  triumphantly  beyond  into  a  realm  of  peace 
and  undimmed  blessedness. 

Thus  we  see  the  Christian  world  ascend  through  a  series  of 
mighty  events,  and  at  the  same  time  win  an  ever-increasing 
wealth  of  inner  life.  The  creative  act  of  God,  the  Fall,  the  en- 
trance of  the  divine  Spirit  into  the  historical  order,  the  victorious 
exaltation  of  the  good  and  the  founding  of  the  kingdom  of  God 
upon  earth,  the  prospect  of  a  better  future  held  out  to  men  until 
the  Day  of  Judgment — it  is  the  close  connection  and  interde- 
pendence of  all  these  facts  and  events  that  first  brings  into 
strong  relief  the  unique  character  of  the  Christian  world.  The 
events  are  not  a  necessary  consequence  of  a  given  world,  rather 
all  the  decisive  changes  result  from  a  free  act;  the  act  here  anti- 
cipates the  historical  process,  freedom  becomes  the  deepest  essence 
of  the  spirit.  Reality  does  not  now  mean  something  plastic,  a 
work  of  art  fascinating  the  perception  by  its  restful  symmetry; 
it  has  transformed  itself  into  a  drama  of  mighty  forces  and  up- 
heavals; and  this  drama  agitates  men  with  a  mighty  emotion. 
For  man  is  not  to  look  upon  these  conflicts  and  vicissitudes  as  if 
he  were  a  spectator  at  a  play;  he  is  himself  to  experience  them 
in  his  deepest  soul,  to  live  them  anew  as  his  own  destiny.  It  is 
of  the  very  essence  of  the  Christian  life  that  what  has  been  ob- 
jectively and  irrevocably  decided  by  historic  events  becomes  for 
the  individual,  in  all  its  seriousness,  an  ever-recurring  personal 
problem;  that  all  the  commotions  of  the  conflict  in  the  world  ex- 
tend with  undiminished  strength  into  the  circle  of  his  experience 
and  form  the  soul  of  his  life.  Indeed,  only  the  individual  appro- 


THE  FOUNDATION  139 

pnation  ana  confirmation  of  those  historic  events  give  them  ful- 
ness of  life  and  an  irresistible  power  of  conviction;  as  mere 
events,  they  could  neither  sufficiently  substantiate  their  truth 
nor  attain  a  triumphant  power  of  conquest.  Thus  the  historical 
and  the  subjective,  the  macrocosmic  and  the  microcosmic,  are 
here  mutually  dependent;  they  reciprocally  imply  and  set  in 
motion  and  sustain  one  another.  Even  this  cursory  synopsis 
shows  that  Christianity  presents  us  with  no  definitive  result; 
that,  notwithstanding  its  existence  as  a  realised  fact,  it  not  only 
creates  unending  movements,  but  remains  in  itself  a  perpetual 
problem,  a  task  that  is  ever  renewed. 

(c)  The  Christian  Life 

(O)   REGENERATION  OF  THE  INNER  LIFE 

The  inner  transformation  which  life  undergoes  owing  to  the 
new  relations  is  rendered  more  clear  by  comparison  with  Greek 
conceptions.  So  long  as  the  problem  mainly  consisted  in 
bringing  man  into  relation  with  a  fully  developed  environment, 
and  in  rilling  his  life  with  this  relation,  knowledge  necessarily 
formed  the  substance  of  spiritual  existence.  Where,  however, 
the  question  is  one  of  co-operating  in  the  upbuilding  of  a  new 
world  and  of  elevating  one's  own  nature,  the  main  thing  becomes 
a  new  direction  of  life,  a  comprehensive  act  affecting  the  whole 
being.  This  act  cannot  be  directed  toward  the  achievement  of 
anything  in  the  existing  world,  for  the  aim  is  the  creation  of  a  new 
world  opposed  to  the  present  one;  nor  will  it  suffice  merely  to 
shift  the  centre  of  gravity  in  the  given  state  of  the  soul  to  some 
other  faculty  than  knowledge,  such  as  feeling  or  volition;  what 
is  required  is  to  penetrate  to  the  farthest  depths  of  one's  being, 
and  by  summoning  and  concentrating  all  one's  power  give  a 
new  soul  to  the  inner  life.  The  struggle  to  gain  such  a  soul  con- 
verts the  previous  activities  into  something  merely  external,  and 
produces  a  gradation  within  one's  own  being;  it  creates  difficult 
problems  for  the  spiritual  life  itself,  and  at  the  same  time  gives 


i4o  CHRISTIANITY 

it  a  positive  character;  while  in  the  Greek  world  the  conception 
of  spirit  was  chiefly  determined  by  contrast  with  sensuousness, 
and  therefore  appeared  the  more  negative  in  proportion  as  it 
was  strictly  taken. 

But  the  Christian  scheme  of  life  is  not  determined  by  abstract 
conceptions;  it  is  determined  rather  by  the  special  circum- 
stance that  man  has  rebelled  against  God,  and  thereby  become 
estranged  from  his  own  nature;  his  true  self,  his  moral  exist- 
ence, is  thus  in  most  imminent  peril;  the  one  concern  is  to  rescue 
his  immortal  soul  from  death  and  the  devil.  In  view  of  the  seri- 
ousness of  the  obstacles,  life  assumes  the  character  of  an  intense 
struggle,  a  decision  concerning  existence  itself,  a  decision  be- 
tween eternal  bliss  and  eternal  ruin.  The  question  of  reconcil- 
iation with  God  acquires  an  intense  urgency,  indeed  it  becomes 
the  only  question;  all  other  problems  now  seem  secondary; 
they  can  in  fact  become  an  object  of  hatred,  if  they  stand  in  the 
way  of  the  aim  that  is  alone  imperative. 

Such  passionate  fervour  and  irresistible  force  in  the  one  desire 
of  life  makes  all  previous  seeking  for  happiness  appear  insipid 
and  unsubstantial.  To  be  sure,  this  strong  affirmation  of  life 
may  easily  coincide  with  a  much  lower  impulse,  a  tenacious 
clinging  to  some  form  of  self-seeking.  But  such  by  no  means 
corresponds  to  the  deeper  sense  of  Christianity.  Rather,  the 
Christian  conviction  is  that  the  way  to  a  proper  self-affirmation 
is  through  rigorous  self-denial;  that  what  is  needed  is  not 
merely  an  intensified  natural  being,  but  the  birth,  through  fel- 
lowship with  God,  of  a  new  supernatural  being.  Such  a  belief 
regards  religion,  not,  as  did  most  of  the  Greek  thinkers,  merely 
as  an  agreeable  ornament  of  existence,  but  as  the  source  of  a 
new  life,  as  the  fundamental  condition  of  spiritual  self-preser- 
vation. In  this  view,  the  individual  derives  an  abiding  personal 
worth,  not  from  his  own  nature,  but  alone  from  God;  it  is  only 
through  heavy  sacrifices,  only  by  the  destruction  of  the  old 
character,  that  a  new  man  is  born. 

At  the  same  time,  the  union  with  God  lifts  spiritual  effort 
above  the  caprice  of  the  individual.  The  soul,  whose  immortal 


THE  FOUNDATION  141 

welfare  is  at  stake,  is  no  private  affair  of  the  man,  its  saving  not 
a  benefit  that  may  be  renounced;  much  rather  it  is  an  incom- 
parable treasure,  a  good  held  in  trust,  which  under  no  circum- 
stances may  be  abandoned.  The  invisible  relations  of  an  eternal 
order  here  touch  the  feelings  with  their  mystery,  and  give  to 
life  the  deepest  seriousness.  Yet  life  is  not  oppressed  by  the 
earnestness  it  assumes,  since  the  divine  act  of  exaltation  cease- 
lessly creates  a  world  of  love  and  freedom,  and  uplifts  the  indi- 
vidual to  become  a  partaker  in  it.  Through  infinite  power  and 
goodness  the  impossible  becomes  possible.  Thus  perishes  in  the 
life-currents  of  a  new  world  all  the  rigidity  of  a  separate  exist- 
ence; with  liberation  from  the  narrowness  of  a  self-willed  ego 
man  gains  a  broader  and  purer  self.  And  from  sharing  in  the 
inexhaustible  wealth  of  a  new  world  there  flows  boundless  joy 
and  blessedness,  experiences  which  lie  beyond  all  selfish  indul- 
gence or  vulgar  happiness. 

By  means  of  such  a  purification,  man's  oft  repressed  but 
never  extinguished  longing  for  happiness  becomes  ennobled  and 
justified;  the  dilemma  of  adopting  either  an  egoistic  self-asser- 
tion or  a  meaningless  renunciation  disappears.  Those  emotions, 
so  often  aroused  and  repressed,  pain  and  joy,  care  and  hope, 
are  now  severed  from  merely  human  things,  and 'taken  up  into 
the  spiritual  life  itself.  They  thus  gain  an  inner  elevation  and 
an  unassailable  position;  and  the  process  of  life  is  not  weak- 
ened but  strengthened. 

Considered  also  as  to  its  historical  effects,  Christianity  in- 
fused into  an  exhausted  state  of  society  a  new  impulse,  and 
offered  to  a  venerable  civilisation  a  world  full  of  fresh  problems. 
This  is  specially  evident  when  we  compare  the  philosophers  of 
the  declining  period  of  antiquity  with  the  earlier  Church  Fathers. 
The  philosophers  far  surpass  the  latter  in  the  perfection  of  form, 
in  the  analysis  of  conceptions,  indeed  in  the  whole  matter  of 
theoretical  demonstration.  But  upon  all  their  work  there  weighs 
the  fatal  consciousness  of  the  emptiness  and  worthlessness  of 
human  existence;  it  prevented  them  from  putting  forth  their 
strength,  and  forbade  all  dedication  to  high  aims.  It  is  therefore 


i42  CHRISTIANITY 

perfectly  intelligible  that  the  victory  fell  to  the  Church  Fathers, 
who  had  a  new  life,  a  great  future,  to  offer,  and  who  could 
summon  men  to  triumphant,  joyous  activity,  and  to  positive 
happiness. 

(yS)   THE  CLOSER  UNION  OF  MANKIND 

The  new  life  effects  a  profound  change  in  the  reciprocal  rela- 
tions of  men,  but  not  so  much  through  doctrines  and  ideas  as 
through  the  influence  of  actual  results.  Just  as  the  elevation  of 
one's  being  to  freedom  and  unity  reveals  the  man  to  himself, 
brings  him  nearer  to  himself,  so  the  mutual  understanding  be- 
tween men  may  increase,  they  may  become  more  intelligible  to 
one  another,  and  live  more  in  and  with  another.  Moreover,  the 
imperishable  worth  which  the  life  with  God  confers  upon  the 
individual  makes  man  of  greater  worth  also  to  his  fellowmen; 
amid  the  evils  of  actual  life  one  may  here  fall  back  upon  an 
inner  being  founded  in  God,  and  so  hold  firmly  to  an  ideal  of 
man  without  at  the  same  time  falsely  idealising  him.  Only 
through  such  an  emphasis  of  human  worth  is  Christianity  en- 
abled to  make  love  the  fundamental  feeling,  and  set  high  aims 
for  action.  It  exhibits  in  this  respect  the  greatest  unlikeness  to 
all  systems  of  mere  sympathy,  the  languid  resignation  of  which 
eventually  weighs  men  down,  and  paralyses  all  vital  feeling. 
These  can  never  produce  the  joy  in  human  life  and  in  human 
nature,  nor  the  expansion  and  blessings  of  fellowship,  which 
Christianity  knows. 

The  life  in  common  is  upheld  and  strengthened  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  similarity  of  destiny  and  of  inner  character. 
However  different  the  stations  and  callings  which  life  may 
assign  to  individuals,  the  one  supreme  task  of  forming  a  new 
nature  is  common  to  all.  Even  moral  differences  pale  and  van- 
ish so  soon  as  man  ceases  to  compare  himself  with  other  men, 
as  did  the  Greeks,  and  looks  instead  to  an  ideal  of  divine  per- 
fection, thus  applying  an  absolute  and  not  a  relative  standard. 

But  those  general  characteristics  of  the  kingdom  of  God  which 
produce  greater  solidarity  and  intimacy  among  human  relations 


THE  FOUNDATION  143 

axe  further  strengthened  by  the  unifying  power  of  all  great  his- 
torical movements.  The  divine  revelations  on  which  life  de- 
pends are  not  vouchsafed  merely  to  individuals,  but  to  humanity 
as  a  whole,  in  the  sense  that  they  require  for  their  expression 
social  organisation  and  social  forces.  Thus  humanity  becomes 
united  in  an  inner  community  of  life  and  in  the  upbuilding  of  a 
new  kingdom;  in  such  a  community  the  individual  can  both 
receive  from  and  contribute  to  the  whole;  the  doing  and  suffer- 
ing of  each  acquires  a  significance  for  all.  Indeed,  each  event  in 
the  life  of  the  individual  is  experienced  in  and  through  the  des- 
tiny of  the  whole,  and  rests  upon  the  latter  as  upon  its  abiding 
foundation. 

To  be  sure,  such  changes  bring  to  light  great  problems  and 
produce  mighty  conflicts.  The  growth  of  the  life  in  common 
must  not  suppress  the  independence  of  the  individual.  It  was, 
in  fact,  Christianity  that  so  immeasurably  exalted  the  individual 
and,  particularly  during  the  first  centuries,  made  all  advance- 
ment dependent  upon  his  freedom.  How  easily,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  antagonistic  forces  which  the  Christian  scheme  of  life 
should  aim  to  harmonise  fall  asunder  and  oppose  one  another, 
is  shown  by  the  incessant  conflicts  running  through  the  whole 
course  of  Christian  history. 

(7)  THE  ACQUISITION  OF  A  HISTORY 

The  ancient  views  of  life  bore  throughout  an  unhistorical 
character.  The  numerous  philosophical  doctrines  of  the  pro- 
cession of  endless  similar  cycles,  which  continually  return  to  the 
starting  point,  were  only  the  expression  of  the  conviction  that 
all  movement  at  bottom  brings  nothing  new,  and  that  life  offers 
no  prospect  of  further  improvement.  When  the  days  were  good, 
this  feeling  occasioned  no  depression,  since  life  was  fully  occu- 
pied with  the  present;  but  when  they  were  bad,  the  sense  of 
emptiness  was  inevitable.  The  profoundest  Greek  thinkers, 
indeed,  viewed  the  temporal  life  as  a  reproduction  of  eternity; 
but  they  knew  nothing  of  an  entrance  of  the  eternal  into  time, 


144  CHRISTIANITY 

a  meeting  of  time  and  eternity.  Christianity  radically  changed 
all  this.  For  in  the  Christian  view,  the  Eternal  reveals  the  whole 
depths  of  His  nature  within  time,  thereby  sets  infinite  tasks,  and 
produces  in  the  world  of  man  the  most  stupendous  movements. 
For  here  the  battle  rages  over  salvation  or  destruction,  here  the 
liberation  from  the  mere  state  of  nature  is  attained,  here  the  up- 
building of  a  kingdom  of  God  is  accomplished.  The  presence  of 
the  eternal  in  time  is  what  first  produces  a  world-history,  and 
gives  a  true  history  also  to  individual  life.  With  such  a  libera- 
tion from  an  inherited  nature,  individuals,  peoples,  and  even  the 
whole  of  humanity  are  no  longer  confined  within  prescribed 
limits;  by  means  of  revolutions  and  reforms  they  can  make 
new  beginnings  and  create  new  powers;  they  can  battle  with 
themselves,  and  overcome  themselves.  A  mighty  desire,  a  di- 
vine discontent,  is  implanted  in  life. 

But  again,  these  fruitful  changes  are  offset  by  serious  com- 
plications. How  the  eternal  can  enter  into  history  without 
ceasing  to  be  eternal;  how,  without  loss,  the  divine  can  share  in 
the  growth  and  change  inseparable  from  time,  remain  an  unex- 
plained mystery.  Thus  a  direct  contradiction  and  a  stubborn 
conflict  mark  the  whole  history  of  Christianity.  One  party  sets 
the  eternal  before  history,  the  other  history  before  the  eternal. 
In  the  latter  case,  there  is  the  tendency  to  concentrate  attention 
upon  fixed  and  limited  facts,  and  to  let  these  work  exclusively 
and  directly  upon  mankind,  but  also  the  attendant  danger  of 
confining  the  present  to  a  single  point  in  the  past,  and  of  unduly 
restricting  the  range  of  Christian  thought;  in  the  former,  we 
have  the  effort  to  comprehend  Christianity  in  its  essence  and 
effect  as  a  universal  and  continuous  fact,  to  transform  all  that 
has  been  achieved  in  history  into  the  immediate  present,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  illuminate  it  with  knowledge,  but  also  the  cor- 
responding danger  of  dissipating  the  historical  element  and  of 
dissolving  the  whole  too  much  into  a  mere  view  of  the  world. 
This  entails  tremendous  conflicts;  but  amid  all  the  heat  of  strife 
there  abide  the  acquisition  of  a  history  and  the  exaltation  of 
action. 


THE  FOUNDATION  145 


()    THE  NEW  ATTITUDE  TOWARD  SUFFERING 

As  in  the  actual  fashioning  of  Christian  life  contrasts  contin- 
ually meet,  so  an  appreciation  of  it  must  take  into  consideration 
conflicting  influences;  their  joint  effect  is  to  produce  a  thor- 
oughly individual  type  of  feeling  for  life.  It  is  in  direct  contra- 
diction with  the  character  of  Christianity  to  begin  by  minimizing 
suffering  and  by  assuring  men  that  misery  is  immaterial: 
scarcely  anything  repels  so  much  as  the  impertinence  of  rep- 
resenting the  world  as  it  is  as  a  realm  of  reason;  if  it  were  such, 
indeed,  the  whole  question  of  turning  to  a  new  world — the 
main  thesis  of  Christianity — would  be  superfluous.  The  fact 
is,  Christianity,  with  the  new  seriousness  it  lends  to  life,  with  its 
insistence  upon  absolute  perfection,  with  its  enhancement  of  the 
worth  of  man  and  of  each  individual,  and  its  strong  desire  for 
love  and  happiness,  must  immeasurably  increase  man's  sensi- 
tiveness to  darkness  and  woe.  Hence  it  does  not  forbid  us  the 
full  recognition  of  suffering;  rather,  it  characterises  indifference 
toward  suffering  as  a  hardening  of  the  heart.  It  was,  in  fact, 
just  this,  that  Christianity  permits  the  frank  admission  of  all  the 
evils  and  woes  of  existence,  and  allows  the  sense  of  suffering  the 
fullest  expression,  that  won  the  minds  of  men  at  the  outset  and 
has  won  them  ever  since;  this  feeling,  which  was  elsewhere 
suppressed,  found  here  a  free  expansion,  and  in  consequence 
life  as  a  whole  increased  in  warmth  and  in  sincerity. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Christianity  is  as  far  removed  from 
a  languid  pessimism  as  it  is  from  a  shallow  optimism.  The 
immediate  world,  whose  misery  threatens  to  overwhelm  us,  is 
not  the  be-all  and  end-all;  a  belief,  founded  as  upon  a  rock,  here 
points  beyond  the  present  to  a  realm  of  divine  life  transcending 
all  conflicts.  That  reason  is  the  root  of  all  reality  is  a  thesis  now 
defended  with  greater  energy  than  ever  before.  Moreover, 
there  is  an  inner  exaltation  of  suffering.  God  has  taken  the 
burden  of  it  upon  Himself,  and  thereby  sanctified  it;  from  ob- 
stinate unreason,  it  is  now  converted  into  a  means  of  the  awak- 


146  CHRISTIANITY 

ening,  purification,  and  regeneration  of  life;  the  descent  serves 
as  an  ascent,  destruction  as  an  exaltation,  the  dark  pathway  of 
death  as  the  portal  of  a  new  life.  As  the  divine  love  shrank  not 
from  the  deepest  abyss,  so  also  in  the  human  sphere  suffering 
enkindles  a  self-sacrificing  devotion  and  an  active  love.  It  is  in 
suffering  that  the  most  intimate  relation  to  God  originates; 
while  the  common  fact  of  suffering  proves  to  be  the  strongest 
bond  between  men.  Accordingly,  the  practical  attitude  toward 
suffering  changes.  The  misery  of  human  existence  is  no  longer 
pushed  to  one  side  and  kept  at  a  distance,  it  is  sought  out  and 
energetically  taken  in  hand,  in  order  to  manifest  love  in  reliev- 
ing it  and  to  awaken  love  in  response.  The  conflict  with  suffer- 
ing, particularly  its  inner  conquest,  becomes  the  principal  aim 
of  effort.  In  this  spirit,  Christianity  can  exalt  the  despised  cross 
into  its  symbol,  and  direct  thought  and  meditation  continually 
toward  suffering,  without  falling  under  the  latter's  power. 
Whereas  ancient  art,  even  when  representing  death,  aimed  by 
an  impressive  portrayal  of  it  to  lead  men's  thought  back  to  life, 
Christian  art,  with  its  pictures  of  saints  and  martyrs  sets  death 
in  the  midst  of  the  labours  and  joys  of  life,  not  in  order  to  cast 
a  gloom  over  life,  but  to  invest  it  with  sublimer,  invisible  rela- 
tions. 

This  attitude  toward  suffering  has  degenerated  often  enough 
into  trivial  sentimentality  or  morbid  pleasure.  Such  a  tendency, 
however,  is  in  direct  conflict  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  since 
not  only  is  it  opposed  by  the  depth  of  Christian  earnestness,  but 
also  suffering  and  unreason  by  no  means  disappear  with  the 
inner  victory  over  them;  on  the  contrary,  evil  remains  a  perma- 
nently insoluble  mystery.  The  development  of  the  Christian 
life  itself  involves  far  too  many  conflicts,  cares,  and  doubts, 
to  leave  any  room  for  comfortable  self-indulgence.  Not  only  do 
those  cares  and  conflicts  disturb  the  bliss  of  Christian  faith,  but 
the  appearance  of  new  joys  increases  the  sense  of  pain.  The 
inner  aspect  of  the  struggle  is  indeed  changed,  but  the  conflict 
itself  has  not  ceased;  for  the  strength  of  the  Christian  life  does 
not  lie  in  a  simple  destruction  of  evil,  but  in  the  power  to  oppose 


THE  FOUNDATION  147 

to  the  principle  of  evil  a  new  and  a  higher  world.  Hence, 
within  a  single  life  two  opposite  moods  make  themselves  felt, 
a  painful  and  a  joyful  one:  the  suffering  cannot  disturb  the 
joy,  the  joy  cannot  extinguish  the  suffering.  But,  inasmuch  as 
each  develops  itself  completely  and  without  obstruction,  exist- 
ence acquires  inner  breadth  and  ceaseless  movement.  And  that 
which  thus  fills  life  also  finds  expression  in  art;  for  nothing  is 
more  characteristic  of  Christian  art  than  complete  emancipa- 
tion of  mood  and  fluctuation  between  the  opposite  extremes  of 
darkness  and  light,  misery  and  bliss. 

(d)  The  Complications  and  the  True  Greatness  of  Christianity 

Thus  Christianity  abounds  in  contrasts;  its  conduct  of  life 
bears  a  thoroughly  antithetical  character, — just  as  its  chief 
minds  are  fond  of  using  antitheses,  declaring  the  difficult  to  be 
easy,  the  distant  to  be  near,  the  miracle  to  be  a  commonplace. 
The  collision  of  these  opposing  tendencies  produces  ceaseless 
movement;  for,  as  a  whole,  the  Christian  life  remains  an  ever- 
renewed  quest  and  conflict;  it  retains  to  the  end  an  unfinished, 
unreconciled,  unrationalised  character,  ever  calls  forth  new 
problems,  becomes  itself  a  problem,  and  must  ever  reascend  to 
its  own  true  height.  Dangers  and  hindrances  threaten  it  step  by 
step;  its  history  cannot  be  a  peaceful  progress,  it  becomes  an 
alternation  of  advance  and  retreat,  of  ascent  and  descent,  of 
decline  and  recovery. 

One  thing  in  particular  results  in  incessant  perplexity,  the 
fact,  namely,  that  Christianity  erects  within  the  domain  of 
nature  a  supernatural  world,  that  it  continually  seeks  to  rise 
above  the  conditions  which  are  the  essential  means  of  its  own 
life.  An  immediate  consequence  is  the  difficulty,  indeed  the 
impossibility,  of  an  appropriate  representation  in  thoughts  and 
conceptions;  every  exposition  remains  a  mere  approximation, 
retains  a  symbolic  character.  But  the  demand  of  man  for  tangi- 
ble truth  and  definite  results  allows  this  imperfection  to  be 
readily  misunderstood  or  forgotten;  there  results  crystallisation, 


i48  CHRISTIANITY 

coarsening,  falling  back  upon  nature,  and  the  most  serious  con- 
fusions become  inevitable. 

No  less  are  the  higher  motives  of  conduct  continually  over- 
borne by  those  upon  a  lower  level.  The  new  affirmation  of  life, 
with  its  bliss,  is  often  degraded  to  the  service  of  the  natural 
greed  of  life,  the  selfish  demand  for  happiness;  what  ought  to 
lift  the  man,  by  decisive  volition,  above  himself,  becomes  in- 
stead a  .confirmation  of  his  natural  state.  When,  further,  par- 
ties arise,  and  the  powers  of  the  world  seek  to  press  Christianity 
into  their  service,  to  exploit  it  for  their  own  ends;  when,  in  par- 
ticular, all  the  inwardness,  self-denial,  and  humility  before  God 
which  characterise  it,  are  perversely  interpreted  as  a  command 
of  slavish  obedience  to  men  and  to  human  institutions,  of  an 
uncomplaining  endurance  of  all  manner  of  unreason,  then  the 
vision  becomes  more  and  more  clouded.  Can  we  deny  that, 
seen  from  without,  the  history  of  Christianity  presents,  on 
the  whole,  an  unedifying  spectacle,  and  that  it  is  only  when 
we  consider  the  innermost  soul  of  its  development  that  an 
appreciative  estimate  becomes  possible?  Christianity,  in  fact, 
has  experienced  in  a  peculiar  degree  the  truth  of  the 
Kantian  saying,  "Even  the  sublimest  of  things  is  belittled  at 
the  hands  of  man,  so  soon  as  he  appropriates  it  to  his  own 
uses." 

Added  to  these  inner  difficulties  is  the  incessant  hostility  from 
without,  the  conflict  with  doubt,  which  necessarily  increases 
with  the  progress  of  civilisation.  The  immediate  impression  of 
the  world  is  against  Christianity;  and  their  ways  lead  ever 
further  apart.  Consequently,  in  order  to  assert  itself,  it  is  com- 
pelled to  insist  more  and  more  energetically  upon  a  reversal  of 
the  entire  view  of  the  world,  to  oppose  to  the  visible  world  an 
invisible  one,  and  to  defend  the  latter  as  the  soul  of  all  reality. 
This  requires  not  only  a  summoning  of  the  whole  personality, 
but  a  passage  through  experiences  and  changes;  also  a  heroic 
elevation  of  mind  and  being.  For,  notwithstanding  its  inward- 
ness and  tenderness,  the  Christian  life  has  a  heroic  character. 
But  its  heroism  is  radically  different  from  the  ancient  heroism; 


THE  FOUNDATION  149 

it  is  a  heroism  of  the  inner  nature,  and  of  simple  humanity; 
a  heroism  in  little  things,  a  greatness  arising  from  joyous  faith 
and  ungrudging  self-sacrifice. 

So  far  as  human  and  historical  relations  are  concerned,  these 
characteristics  lead  us  to  expect  endless  complications;  more 
definitely  than  in  other  religions  does  the  history  of  Christianity 
become  an  arduous  effort  to  realise  its  own  being,  a  struggle  to 
attain  the  highest  development  of  its  own  nature.  Yet  no  mere 
struggle;  for  it  has  been  also  a  victory  and  a  regeneration;  we 
only  need  to  look  from  the  single  phases  to  the  whole,  and  to 
penetrate  beyond  the  outward  appearance  to  the  moving  causes, 
in  order  to  recognise  that  a  mighty  life-force  has  been  implanted 
in  the  world,  and  to  become  aware  of  the  profoundest  effects 
upon  the  whole  of  human  existence. 

Christianity  has  revealed  a  new  world,  and,  through  the  pos- 
sibility of  sharing  in  it,  conferred  upon  human  nature  an  incom- 
parable greatness  and  dignity,  and  upon  the  work  of  life  an  in- 
tense earnestness  and  a  real  history.  It  could  not  simply  abol- 
ish the  misery  of  the  world,  but  it  could  rise  above  it  as  a  whole, 
and  thus  inwardly  triumph  over  its  hostility.  It  has  not  made 
life  easier  but  more  difficult;  yet  in  an  original  innermost  recess 
it  has  lifted  all  oppressive  weight  from  man  by  basing  his  nature 
upon  freedom,  and  by  breaking  all  the  bonds  of  fate  and  of  un- 
yielding Nature.  It  has  brought  no  definitive  solution,  no  com- 
fortable repose;  it  has  plunged  man  into  grievous  unrest  and 
hard  struggle;  it  has  thrown  his  whole  existence  into  ceaseless 
commotion.  But  his  life  has  not  only  been  made  far  more  sig- 
nificant by  these  conflicts  and  trials,  there  is  held  in  continual 
readiness  for  him  a  region  where  the  strife  does  not  penetrate, 
and  whence  peace  is  diffused  over  the  whole  of  existence.  With- 
al, Christianity  has  not  only  called  individuals  to  an  ennobling 
change  of  life,  but  also  opened  to  peoples  and  to  humanity  the 
possibility  of  a  continual  renewal — one  might  almost  say,  of  an 
eternal  youth.  From  all  the  errors  of  its  relations  to  the  world 
it  could  always  withdraw  into  a  realm  of  faith  and  contemplation 
as  into  its  true  home,  in  order  there  to  recuperate  its  powers, 


150  CHRISTIANITY 

and  even  to  restore  its  outward  aspect.  All  the  criticisms  of 
advancing  culture,  all  the  opposition  of  scientific  work,  do  not 
touch  in  the  least  its  deepest  essence,  since  from  the  first  its  aim 
was  to  be  something  other  and  higher  than  mere  culture,  since, 
in  particular,  it  sought  not  to  represent  or  even  to  further  a  pres- 
ent world,  but  to  create  a  new  one.  Hence  Christianity,  not- 
withstanding its  unsolved  problems  and  its  abuses,  has  become 
the  moving  force  in  the  world's  history,  the  spiritual  home  of 
humanity;  and  such  it  remains  even  where  the  mind  is  filled 
with  opposition  to  its  ecclesiastical  interpretation. 

II.  JESUS'S  VIEW  OF  LIFE 
(a)  Preliminary  Remarks 

That  the  spirit  of  Christianity  gained  so  much  power  in  the 
midst  of  an  indifferent  or  hostile  world,  and  that  all  the  changes 
within  Christianity  itself  could  not  destroy  an  abiding  founda- 
tion, nor  all  the  disruption  extinguish  an  inner  fellowship,  was 
due,  above  all,  to  the  supreme  personality  and  the  constructive 
life-work  of  Jesus.  As  the  revelation  of  a  new  world,  this  lile- 
work  necessarily  implies  a  coherent  body  of  beliefs,  a  sort  of 
view  of  life;  and  little  as  this  view  of  life  falls  in  with  the  philo- 
sophical movement  of  thought,  it  cannot  be  omitted  from 
the  present  investigation,  since  all  the  views  of  life  emanat- 
ing from  the  Christian  community  point  back  to  it,  and  sine* 
even  beyond  this  community  it  has  exerted  the  profoundest 
influence. 

The  unique  difficulties  of  the  problem  are  sufficiently  obvious. 
In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  difficulty  with  the  sources,  which 
for  a  long  time  were  accepted  without  question,  but  which  have 
given  rise  to  innumerable  doubts  on  the  part  of  modern  criti- 
cism.* That  we  know  Jesus  only  through  tradition,  although 
a  very  ancient  one,  and  that  with  the  tradition  is  mingled  the 
subjective  character  and  interpretation  of  the  witness,  no  one 
can  deny  to-day  who  does  not  confound  religion  and  historical 

•  Sec  Appendix  F. 


THE  FOUNDATION  151 

research,  and  thus  surrender  all  pretensions  to  an  unprejudiced 
judgment.  But  it  is  possible  to  exaggerate  this  difficulty,  by 
mistaking  what  the  matter  of  vital  importance  is.  That  which 
is  characteristic  in  a  truly  great  personality  cannot  be  obliterated 
by  any  amount  of  subjective  testimony;  an  incomparable  spir- 
itual individuality  does  not  admit  of  being  invented  and  facti- 
tiously perfected;  if  Jesus  appears  to  be  such,  even  when  seen 
through  the  mists  of  tradition,  then  we  may,  indeed  we  must, 
rely  upon  the  truth  of  the  impression.  But  now,  the  sayings 
contained  in  the  three  first  Gospels,  with  their  wonderful  similes 
and  parables,  present  a  thoroughly  characteristic  and  harmoni- 
ous picture  of  Jesus;  the  more  we  understand  them  in  their 
simple  literal  sense,  and  exclude  all  extraneous  interpretation, 
the  more  individual,  the  greater,  the  more  unique,  appear  his 
personality  and  his  world  of  thought.  The  life,  at  once  trans- 
parent and  unfathomable,  that  rises  before  us,  enables  us  to 
look  deep  into  the  soul  of  the  man,  and  brings  his  personality  as 
a  whole  near  to  every  heart,  as  near  as  only  man  can  be  to 
man.  In  the  innermost  traits  of  his  being,  Jesus  is  more 
transparent  and  familiar  to  us  than  any  hero  of  the  world's 
history. 

The  doubt  and  conflict  which  none  the  less  existed  and  still 
exist  as  to  the  view  to  be  taken  of  him  are  due  less  to  the  sources 
themselves  than  to  extraneous  convictions  which  obscure  our 
vision.  Very  early,  faith  in  Christ's  work  of  reconciliation  and 
redemption  supplanted  the  interest  in  the  life  and  teachings  of 
the  man  Jesus;  in  particular,  the  ecclesiastical  doctrine  of  the 
divinity  of  Christ  was  little  favorable  to  a  precise  and  accurate 
conception  of  Jesus's  personality.  The  separation  of  two 
natures,  whose  union  indeed  might  be  decreed,  but  could  not 
be  brought  to  a  living  reality,  led  to  the  constant  confusion,  in 
the  faith  of  the  Christian  church,  of  two  views  of  Christ:  on  the 
one  hand  he  was  divine,  existing  in  transcendent  majesty,  but 
possessing  an  abstract  and  featureless  character;  on  the  other, 
he  was  human,  with  a  predominance  of  the  traits  of  tenderness 
and  suffering,  yet  there  was  here  a  failure  to  recognise  the 


152  CHRISTIANITY 

joy  in  life  and  the  heroic  power  of  Jesus;  often,  too,  there 
was  a  tendency  toward  the  sentimental,  particularly  when  the 
conception  of  vicarious  suffering  occupied  the  foreground  of  the 
picture. 

When,  however,  the  traditional  view  of  the  Church  became 
unsettled,  new  dangers  arose.  Even  in  differing  from  the 
Church,  men  did  not  wish  to  surrender  the  relation  to  Jesus; 
hence  each  side  sought  to  strengthen  its  position  by  an  appeal 
to  this  relationship.  The  result  was  that  each  found  in  it  what 
was  favourable  to  his  own  view;  and  thus  it  was  the  varying  re- 
quirements of  the  time  which  modified  the  historical  picture 
first  one  way  then  another.  But  from  early  rationalism  down  to 
the  present  time  such  a  procedure  resulted  in  something  too  ad- 
vanced, enlightened,  and  cultivated;  not  only  the  contemporary 
historical  colouring,  but  even  the  distinguishing  and  overmaster- 
ing elements  of  Jesus's  character,  became  obscured.  Whoever 
makes  of  Jesus  a  normal  man  finds  it  nearly  impossible  to  do 
justice  to  his  greatness.  As  opposed  to  such  a  levelling  rational- 
ism, there  has  sprung  up  of  late  a  movement  of  historical  re- 
search which  insists  upon  a  recognition  of  the  simple  facts. 
That  is  of  course  right:  only  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that 
epoch-making  personalities  never  reveal  themselves  in  single 
utterances,  but  only  as  a  whole,  and  hence  from  within;  and 
that  such  an  apprehension  of  the  whole  is  only  possible  to  a  cor- 
responding whole  of  personal  conviction.  Historical  research 
does  not  so  much  decide  the  contest  as  transfer  it  to  other 
ground.  In  general,  the  estimate  and  comprehension  of  great 
personalities  resolves  itself  in  the  end  into  a  conflict  of  princi- 
ples; and  the  interpretation  of  the  personality  of  Jesus  will 
never  be  free  from  strife,  but  will  always  divide  men  into  oppos- 
ing parties.  Every  solution  of  the  problem  from  the  historical 
side,  however,  must  undertake  both  to  do  full  justice  to  the 
peculiarities  belonging  to  the  history  of  the  time,  and  also  to 
make  it  intelligible  how  a  doctrine  which  belonged  in  the  first 
place  wholly  to  its  own  epoch,  can  have  a  message  for  all  ages, 
can  communicate  eternal  truth  to  all. 


THE  FOUNDATION  153 


(b)  The  Elements  of  Jesus' s  View  of  Life 

The  essence  of  Jesus's  teaching  consists  in  the  proclaiming  of 
a  new  order  of  the  world  and  of  life,  i.  e.,  the  "Kingdom  of 
Heaven,"  which  should  be  far  removed  from,  indeed  in  positive 
opposition  to,  existing  conditions;  in  fact,  opposed  to  all  the 
natural  doing  and  contriving  of  men,  to  the  "world."  In  Jesus's 
conception,  this  new  order  is  by  no  means  merely  an  inner  trans- 
formation, affecting  only  the  heart  and  mind,  and  leaving  the 
outer  world  in  the  same  condition.  Rather,  historical  research 
puts  it  beyond  question  that  the  new  kingdom  means  a  visible 
order  as  well,  that  it  aims  at  a  complete  change  of  the  state  of 
things,  and  hence  cannot  tolerate  any  rival  order.  Never  in 
history  has  mankind  been  summoned  to  a  greater  revolution 
than  here,  where  not  this  and  that  among  the  conditions  but  the 
totality  of  human  existence  is  to  be  regenerated.  If,  none  the 
less,  Jesus  stands  so  far  above  all  mere  enthusiasts  and  revolu- 
tionaries, the  difference  is  in  the  content  of  the  newly  proclaimed 
kingdom.  For  this  content  consists  in  the  most  intimate  fellow- 
ship with  God,  the  blessedness  arising  from  such  fellowship, 
and  the  inseparable  union  of  trust  in  God  with  love  for  men. 
Seen  from  the  point  of  view  of  this  content,  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  already  present  in  the  souls  of  men;  its  glory  appears 
not  as  something  distant,  something  to  be  awaited,  an  object 
merely  of  promise  and  of  hope,  but  as  something  very  near, 
something  obviously  present  in  our  midst  and  at  every  moment 
tangible — in  short,  as  something  fully  real  even  in  the  sphere  of 
human  life.  Here  a  new  life  wells  up  with  new  aims  and  pow- 
ers, a  life  that  represents  impressively  to  humanity  a  lofty  and 
imperishable  ideal,  a  life  that  unites  with  a  great  expectation 
and  hope  a  veritable  transfiguration  of  the  present. 

Accordingly,  the  new  kingdom  appears  above  all  as  a  king- 
dom of  spiritual  life;  it  lies  beyond  all  outward  achievements 
and  manifestations.  Moreover  it  does  not  require  a  variety  of 
activities  and  sets  no  complicated  problems;  it  focuses  the 


154  CHRISTIANITY 

whole  life  upon  a  single  act — entrance  into  the  new  kingdom, 
full  and  unreserved  dedication  to  God,  the  merging  of  the  whole 
being  in  the  fellowship  with  God.  In  this  fellowship  there  de- 
velops a  pure  harmony  of  innermost  life,  a  complete  communi- 
cation of  being,  a  kingdom  of  all-embracing  love  and  of  uncon- 
ditional trust,  a  secure  protection  of  man  in  the  goodness  and 
mercy  of  the  omnipotent  God,  and,  added  to  all,  the  highest 
bliss.  Here  an  infinite  love  allows  nothing  to  be  lost,  and  con- 
fers worth  even  upon  the  lowliest.  All  cares  and  afflictions  dis- 
appear in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  divine  love,  in  the 
"vision"  of  God;  man  is  lifted  above  all  perplexities  and  con- 
flicts into  a  realm  of  peace,  and  filled  with  an  overflowing  joy  in 
the  treasures  of  the  new  life. 

In  this  new  order,  external  conditions  also  are  transformed. 
Man  is  nowhere  left  at  the  mercy  of  hostile  powers;  even  his 
material  existence  falls  under  the  loving  care  of  the  omnipotent 
God.  What  is  needful  to  man  will  be  supplied  to  him,  and  noth- 
ing can  befall  him  which  does  not  contribute  to  his  good.  A 
characteristic  conception  of  faith  develops,  which  primarily  af- 
fects spiritual  goods,  then  the  total  welfare.  Unquestioning  con- 
fidence prevails  that  everything  asked  for  in  sincere  trust  will  be 
granted;  for,  if  men,  "being  evil,"  know  how  to  give  good  gifts 
to  their  children,  how  much  more  shall  God  give  good  things  to 
them  that  ask  him?  The  right  faith  can  "remove  mountains." 
Accordingly,  nothing  is  wanting  to  the  perfection  of  the  new 
world,  the  "Kingdom  of  Heaven;"  nothing  hostile  remains  to 
disturb  its  blessedness. 

Thought  of  this  new  world  is  constantly  accompanied  and 
permeated  by  the  analogy  with  family  life,  the  reciprocal  relation 
of  parents  and  children,  by  which  it  acquires  greater  nearness 
and  distinctness.  Just  as  in  the  family  there  is  on  the  one  hand 
a  loving,  self-sacrificing  care,  lavished  without  thought  of  re- 
ward or  gratitude,  and  on  the  other,  an  unreserved  devotion, 
and  an  unquestioning  expectation  of  help;  just  as  not  any 
special  service,  but  the  whole  being,  the  mere  presence  of  the 
other,  gives  joy;  just  as  the  one  offers  himself,  and  the  other 


THE  FOUNDATION  155 

receives  him,  as  a  whole;  so  it  is  in  a  far  more  intensified  and 
perfect  form  in  the  kingdom  of  God.  The  human  may  thu? 
grow  into  a  likeness  to  the  divine,  since  it  is  viewed  from  the  be- 
ginning in  the  purest  and  noblest  way,  in  the  light  of  the  divine. 
That  the  new  life  finds  its  appropriate  expression  hi  the  feelings 
and  relations  of  the  family,  marks  its  complete  antithesis  to 
ancient  idealism.  For,  in  the  latter,  domestic  and  social  life  were 
modelled  after  the  civic  life  of  the  state,  and  the  leading  idea  of 
conduct  was  justice,  the  justice  that  demands  performance,  and 
assigns  to  the  individual  his  deserts  in  accordance  therewith. 
In  the  new  kingdom  of  adoption,  on  the  contrary,  all  differences 
of  performance,  as  also  of  ability,  disappear;  from  the  outset  all 
men  are  equally  near  to  God,  and  objects  of  an  equal  love. 
What  is  here  required  is  the  dedication  of  the  whole  being, 
strength  of  desire  and  sincerity  of  trust.  That  is  something 
which  is  possible- for  everyone;  and  it  needs  no  outward  token. 
The  more  exclusively  everything  is  made  to  depend  upon  this 
one  conversion  of  the  being,  upon  the  acceptance  of  the  glad 
tidings,  so  much  the  more  decisive  becomes  the  demand  that 
this  acceptance  be  given  without  any  reservation  or  any  counter- 
vailing, and  that  all  one's  doing,  without  exception,  shall  pro- 
mote this  single  aim.  As,  even  in  everyday  life,  a  man  spends 
all  to  recover  a  treasure  hidden  in  his  field,  or  to  find  the  pearl 
of  great  price  of  which  he  has  heard,  so  much  the  more  must 
the  incomparably  greater  spiritual  good  fill  our  whole  thought. 
The  compromises  of  expediency  are  strictly  forbidden;  nothing 
foreign  to  his  purpose  is  permitted  to  occupy  a  man.  For,  what- 
ever a  man  seeks  penetrates  into  his  mind,  and  lessens  his  devo- 
tion to  the  one  object:  "where  your  treasure  is,  there  shall  your 
heart  be  also."  Thus  arises  an  uncompromising  antagonism 
between  the  life  with  God  and  that  with  the  world;  with  the  ut- 
most possible  emphasis  the  command  is  issued  not  to  serve  two 
masters;  also  to  put  away  all  vacillating  and  dallying.  "  No  man 
having  put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  looking  back,  is  fit 
for  the  kingdom  of  God."  Even  useful,  indeed  highly  valuable, 
things  become  injurious,  so  soon  as  they  come  into  conflict  with 


156  CHRISTIANITY 

the  one  purpose;  the  eye  is  to  be  plucked  out,  the  hand  cut  off, 
when  tney  endanger  the  whole  man.  All  deliberating  and  wav- 
ering must  give  way  before  the  one  thought.  "For  what  doth 
it  profit  a  man,  to  gain  the  whole  world,  and  forfeit  his  soul  ?  " 
From  this  elevation  of  mind  and  of  view  follows  an  emphatic 
rejection  of  the  desire  for  riches  and  earthly  possessions,  of  the 
devotion  to  the  sordid  cares  of  everyday,  of  calculating  and 
troubling  over  the  distant  future:  "  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof." 

Likewise,  a  characteristic  estimate  of  the  value  of  different 
conditions  of  life  and  of  feeling  develops;  whatever  arouses  a 
strong  desire,  a  hunger  and  thirst  for  fellowship  with  God,  is 
lauded ;  on  the  contrary,  whatever  strengthens  the  earthly  ties, 
and  gives  them  worth,  is  condemned.  But  since  all  outward 
success  and  material  comfort  do  this,  there  results  a  complete 
reversal  of  the  customary  estimate  of  men  and  things.  The  poor 
and  afflicted,  the  humble  and  oppressed,  are  near  to  the  king- 
dom of  heaven,  the  rich  and  powerful,  far;  for  the  former  are 
much  easier  led  to  a  change  of  heart  and  to  a  longing  for  eternal 
life.  No  less  have  the  ignorant  and  the  incompetent  the  advan- 
tage over  the  clever  and  the  wise,  who  are  self-satisfied  and  self- 
absorbed.  In  fact,  just  as  in  everyday  experience  we  value  the 
more  what  we  have  lost,  so  he  who  has  gone  astray,  the  sinner,  is 
an  object  of  special  solicitude;  not  only  is  the  prodigal  son  im- 
pelled by  a  stronger  desire  to  return  to  his  home,  but  also  a 
greater  warmth  of  fatherly  love  goes  forth  to  meet  him. 

Similarly,  those  seem  especially  near  to  the  new  kingdom 
who  are  of  a  peaceable  and  gentle  disposition,  those  whose  trans- 
parent nature  and  purity  of  heart  remain  untouched  by  worldly 
lapses,  men  of  homely  and  simple  dispositions,  in  whom  the  per- 
plexities of  life  have  not  destroyed  the  sense  for  that  which  is 
most  of  all  needful.  Thus,  opposed  to  the  everyday  occupations 
of  trade,  to  the  rigidity  and  narrowness  of  humdrum  life,  there 
here  opens,  through  the  fundamental  relation  of  man  to  God, 
a  rich,  continuous,  ever-flowing  life;  out  of  it  rises  the  sanctuary 
of  a  new  world,  destined  to  sway  the  whole  of  reality. 


THE  FOUNDATION  157 

The  estimate  placed  upon  the  life  of  the  child  finds  herein  its 
confirmation.  The  child — obviously  it  is  the  period  of  tender, 
helpless  infancy  that  is  chiefly  in  mind — in  the  simplicity  of  its 
nature  and  the  innocence  of  its  dependence,  in  its»  clinging  to 
others,  becomes  the  perfect  pattern  of  those  who  seek  after  God : 
they  who  would  enter  the  kingdom  of  God  are  required  to  turn 
and  become  as  little  children.  The  child's  nature  is  thus  for  the 
first  time  adequately  revealed  to  the  spiritual  eye  of  mankind. 
Children  appear  as  something  sacred  and  inviolable,  as  pro- 
tected by  the  divine  love  and  as  specially  near  to  the  divine 
nature;  "for  I  say  unto  you  that  in  heaven  their  angels  do 
always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven."  In 
these  simple  words  is  contained  a  complete  reversal  of  human 
feeling.  Later  antiquity,  too,  had  concerned  itself  not  a  little 
with  the  child  and  his  life;  statues  of  children  formed  a  favourite 
subject  of  its  art.  But  it  did  not  at  all  behold  in  the  child  the 
germ  and  the  prophecy  of  a  new  and  purer  world,  rather  merely 
full  and  fresh  nature;  its  works  of  art  "represent  throughout 
the  drollery,  the  roguishness,  the  playfulness,  even  the  quarrel- 
someness and  stealth,  but  above  all  that  lusty  health  and  vigour 
which  should  be  one  of  the  chief  attributes  of  the  child  "  (Burck- 
hardt).  Thus  it  is  the  outward  approximation  that  so  pointedly 
shows  the  inner  divergence  between  the  two  worlds. 

In  the  new  life  earnestness  and  gentleness  hold  an  even  bal- 
ance. Since  the  work  of  salvation  is  directed  mainly  toward  the 
weak  and  erring,  toward  them  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden; 
since  guilt  is  blotted  out  through  love  and  mercy;  and  since  all 
the  relations  of  life  are  governed,  not  by  rigid  standards,  but  by 
the  law  of  love  and  by  the  inward  disposition,  the  yoke  proves 
to  be  easy  and  the  burden  light.  The  Son  of  man  came  not  to 
destroy  but  to  fulfil,  to  seek  and  to  save  them  that  are  lost.  But 
the^seriousness  of  life  suffers  no  detriment  by  clemency.  A  di- 
vine order  extends  its  sway  over  our  existence,  and  the  demands 
of  a  holy  will  give  to  human  decision  a  momentous  significance. 
The  salvation  of  the  immortal  soul  is  at  stake.  It  has  been  en- 
trusted, like  a  priceless  treasure,  to  man's  keeping;  he  must, 


158  CHRISTIANITY 

and  he  will,  one  day  give  an  account  of  his  stewardship.  The 
moment  is  irrecoverable,  and  its  consequences  reach  to  all 
eternity. 

(c)  The  Religion  and  the  Ethics  of  Jesus 

Such  a  profound  change  in  the  demands  and  in  the  hopes  of 
life  naturally  addresses  itself  to  the  whole  man,  with  the  result 
that  the  organisation  of  the  work  of  life  and  the  progress  of 
civilisation  lose  all  interest  for  him.  The  sum  of  duty  is  com- 
prised in  the  twofold  injunction,  "Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy 
mind,"  and  "  thy  neighbour  as  thyself."  Stress  is  thus  laid  solely 
on  religion  and  morals.  Yet  these  are  not  treated  as  separate 
spheres,  but  as  related  aspects  of  one  and  the  same  life.  Love 
of  God  and  love  of  man  form  an  indivisible  whole. 

The  relations  of  men  to  one  another  rest  throughout  upon  the 
community  of  nature  between  man  and  God,  revealed  by  the 
kingdom  of  heaven:  it  is  only  from  God  that  men  gain  a  rela- 
tionship to  one  another,  only  in  religion  that  morals  have  a 
foundation.  On  the  other  hand,  morality  or  humane  conduct 
forms  an  indispensable  confirmation  of  religion;  religion  mani- 
fests its  genuineness  by  leading  men  to  helpful,  self-denying 
conduct.  Simple  as  this  seems,  and  little  new  as  it  is  in  teach- 
ing, the  most  momentous  changes  are  none  the  less  due  to  it. 

Religion  is  here  a  complete  absorption  in  the  life  with  God, 
a  ceaseless  turning  of  the  whole  nature  toward  Him;  it  is  that 
ennobling  harmony  of  mind  which  is  full  of  blessing,  and  which 
we  designate  by  the  term  "love."  As  the  core  of  all  life,  religion 
is  not  a  mere  supplement  to  other  forms  of  activity,  but  operates 
in  and  through  all  activity  as  its  soul.  If  religion  in  this  sense  is 
an  attitude  toward  the  whole  of  experience,  it  is  a  mistake  to 
identify  it  with  any  special  acts.  Consequently,  there  is  here  the 
most  emphatic  repudiation  of  all  alleged  religious  activity  which 
is  set  apart  from  life  in  general,  and  which  lays  claim  to  a  special 
sanctity,  indeed  an  exclusive  holiness.  More  especially  does  the 
latter  presumption  become  a  source  of  danger  to  the  simple, 


THE  FOUNDATION  159 

fundamental  command  of  love  and  mercy;  for  these  are  easily 
repressed,  even  destroyed,  by  it.  Yet  the  universal  injunction 
to  show  love  and  mercy  is  an  inviolable  command  of  God,  while 
the  above  peculiar  claim  is  merely  of  human  devising.  It 
amounts,  therefore,  to  a  fatal  perversion  when  such  dogmas  are 
allowed  to  weaken  the  eternal  commands  and  blunt  our  sense 
for  the  weal  or  woe  of  our  fellowmen.  Hence  the  most  decisive 
rejection  of  all  claims  to  exclusive  sanctity:  of  more  value  than 
all  offerings  in  the  temple  is  the  simple  command,  "Honour  thy 
father  and  thy  mother." 

Furthermore,  the  basing  of  religion  in  this  manner  upon  the 
whole  nature  results  in  a  rejection  of  everything  external,  of  all 
formulas  and  all  elaborate  ritual,  together  with  all  those  subtle 
distinctions  of  what  is  allowed  and  what  not  allowed.  So,  too, 
the  most  astounding  works  of  religion  (prophecies,  miracles, 
etc.),  are  surpassed  by  the  simplest  self-denying  act,  the  token 
of  true  piety.  By  their  fruits  we  shall  know  them;  not  everyone 
that  sayeth  Lord,  Lord,  but  whoso  doeth  the  will  of  our  heav- 
enly Father,  is  pleasing  to  God. 

Indignation  at  the  perversion  of  religion  reaches  its  height  in 
the  denunciation  of  all  vain  and  ostentatious  religious  acts,  all 
display  before  men,  all  hierarchical  pretensions.  Since,  in  fact, 
all  men  are  equally  thrown  upon  the  divine  love  and  mercy,  pre- 
tense and  self-righteousness  only  disclose  a  lack  of  inner  verac- 
ity. Hence  the  emphatic,  incisive  warning  against  hypocrisy, 
the  "leaven  of  the  Pharisees;"  this  designates  not  so  much  the 
crude  sort  of  hypocrisy  which  consists  in  pretending  to  the  direct 
opposite  of  what  is  actually  believed,  as  it  does  to  the  more 
subtle  inner  untruthfulness  in  which  the  outward  act  leaves  the 
basis  of  the  nature  indifferent,  and  occupation  with  divine 
things  is  united  with  cunning,  with  the  lust  of  power,  and  with 
selfishness.  In  contrast  with  such  a  dark  picture,  true  piety 
shines  but  the  more  brightly;  it  accepts  the  divine  favour  in  joy- 
ful humility,  and  manifests  its  gratitude  in  silent,  untiring  love. 

The  characteristic  peculiarity  of  the  ethics  of  Jesus  lies  a  step 
further  back  than  it  is  usual  to  seek  it.  It  does  not  consist  in 


160  CHRISTIANITY 

striking  individual  sayings:  whoever  is  familiar  with  the  Greek 
and  Judaic  writers  of  the  time  can  point  to  most  of  the  doctrines, 
similarly  expressed,  in  earlier  documents.  But  the  spirit  that 
fills  all  the  teachings  with  a  living  power  is  new;  even  the  old  it 
makes  new,  and  the  simple  great.  For,  while  aside  from  Chris- 
tianity there  were  only  the  aspirations  and  efforts  of  individuals, 
— the  refined  reflections  of  thinkers  and  the  tender  moods  of 
sensitive  souls — the  kingdom  of  heaven  presents  a  world  em- 
bracing the  whole  being;  the  sayings  of  Jesus  become  an  ex- 
pression, a  witness,  of  an  original,  ceaselessly  flowing  life. 
Even  the  most  difficult  requirements  now  possess  the  certainty 
of  fulfilment.  What  in  its  isolation  might  appear  paradoxical, 
becomes  in  its  new  relations  self-evident;  all  the  lifelessness  and 
indefiniteness  of  earlier  plans  is  overcome.  Hence  a  great  ad- 
vance is  unmistakable.  What  existed  merely  in  thought  has  be- 
come deed;  what  was  an  aim  and  an  ideal  has  become  living 
reality. 

Accordingly,  all  the  principal  directions  of  the  new  movement 
manifest,  in  addition  to  their  connection  with  the  past,  a  very 
fruitful  further  development.  It  is  in  accordance  with  the  gen- 
eral character  of  the  age  that  the  moral  problem  is  not  con- 
nected with  external  works,  but  with  the  inner  disposition.  Yet 
this  general  desire  lacked  for  its  complete  satisfaction  an  inde- 
pendent and  comprehensive  inner  world;  hence  the  spiritual 
life  of  the  individual  remained  isolated,  and  all  his  laborious 
striving  might  appear  as  lost,  so  far  as  the  community,  and  even 
the  vital  basis  of  his  own  being,  were  concerned.  But  all  that 
now  undergoes  a  complete  transformation,  since  the  union  with 
God  transfers  man  to  a  self-sufficing  inner  world,  in  which  he  is 
wholly  absorbed.  Whatever  takes  place  in  such  an  inner  world 
has,  ipso  facto,  a  reality  and  a  worth.  The  complete  subordina- 
tion of  performance  to  disposition  is  no  longer  a  pretentious 
assertion,  but  a  simple  fact,  .a  matter  of  course,  since  action  is 
directed  from  the  outset,  not  toward  the  outward  circumstances, 
but  toward  the  kingdom  of  God  present  within.  If  the  action  is 
consummated  in  this  inner  world,  the  external  act  has  only  to 


THE  FOUNDATION  161 

make  known  what  there  took  place;  it  receives  all  its  worth 
from  that  life-giving  basis.  The  disposition  itself  grows  there- 
by from  a  passive  mood  to  a  vigorous  act.  At  the  same  time, 
the  distinctions  of  greater  and  lesser  achievement  lose  all  mean- 
ing; the  lesser  attainment  becomes  superior  to  the  greater, 
whenever  it  represents  a  higher  value  in  the  disposition.  The 
change  that  has  taken  place  is  manifest  in  the  parable  of  the 
talents:  the  question  here  is  not  how  much  natural  capacity  is 
involved,  nor  how  much  outward  result  is  attained,  but  solely 
whether  the  man's  whole  power,  be  it  ever  so  little,  has  been 
put  forth  in  singleness  of  purpose;  it  is  this  inner  achievement 
that  alone  determines  the  worth  of  the  act.  The  result  is  a  com- 
plete liberation  from  the  destiny  imposed  by  natural  endow- 
ment and  by  the  accidents  of  outward  success;  and  the  worth 
of  the  man  is  based  solely  upon  what  pertains  to  his  own  act,  the 
act  of  his  whole  being.  The  power  of  external  destiny  had  in- 
deed already  been  broken  by  Plato;  for  he  placed  the  greatness 
of  man  and  the  worth  of  life  in  the  strength  and  harmony  of  the 
inner  nature.  But  in  the  inner  nature  itself  there  remained  an- 
other, still  more  powerful,  destiny, — the  natural  traits,  and  the 
limits  of  mental  capacity:  the  liberation  from  these  was  first 
accomplished  by  Jesus. 

The  new  inwardness  of  the  moral  life  represents  at  the  same 
time  an  elevation  above  all  external  formulas  and  precepts;  in 
the  new  kingdom  man  cannot  be  bound  by  any  dogma  imposed 
from  without.  Instead,  there  springs  from  within  the  sternest 
subjection  of  the  whole  nature  to  a  spiritual  law.  Where  it  is 
a  question  of  transforming  human  existence  to  its  deepest  roots 
and  throughout  its  whole  extent,  even  the  least  apparent  ex- 
pressions of  life,  the  lightest  thoughts,  become  subject  to  moral 
judgment.  Hence  every  form  of  enmity,  every  form  of  unchas- 
tity,  every  form  of  untruthfulness,  is  forbidden,  and  not  merely 
such  as  are  manifest  in  overt  acts,  and  prohibited  among  men. 
Neither  are  any  expedient  compromises  with  the  alien  world 
ever  tolerated;  on  the  contrary,  the  perfect  ideal  in  all  its  ful- 
ness must  be  realised,  the  high  requirement  strictly  fulfilled. 


162  CHRISTIANITY 

Thus  there  is  developed  the  ideal  of  a  perfection  of  the  whole 
being,  of  a  moral  likeness  to  God:  "Be  ye  therefore  perfect, 
even  as  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven  is  perfect." 

A  second  chief  trait  of  the  ethical  advance  here  inaugurated  is 
the  mild  character  exhibited  in  its  gentleness,  humility,  and 
love  of  enemies.  In  this  instance  also,  careful  discrimination  is 
necessary,  in  order  accurately  to  estimate  the  progress  made. 
There  is  a  gentleness  which  arises  from  the  experience  of  ex- 
treme suffering,  from  a  consciousness  of  the  vanity  of  all  human 
things  and  the  implication  of  all  men  in  a  common  misery — the 
gentleness  of  weakness;  there  is  another  gentleness  which 
springs  from  a  joyful  gratitude  for  the  great  blessings  allotted  to 
man,  for  the  wealth  of  unmerited  goodwill  and  love  vouchsafed 
to  him — the  gentleness  of  strength.  The  former  gentleness 
exhibits  sympathetic  feeling,  and  will  indeed  alleviate  suf- 
fering in  a  given  instance  with  a  kind  of  languid  helpfulness; 
but  it  will  not  undertake  to  create  new  conditions.  The  ac- 
tive spirit  of  gentleness,  on  the  other  hand,  seeks  out  suffering 
wherever  it  may  be  found,  takes  it  vigorously  in  hand,  and,  if  it 
cannot  completely  relieve  it,  will  at  least  provide  the  means  of  an 
essential  victory  over  it  by  the  upbuilding  from  within  of  a 
kingdom  of  love.  In  the  former  case,  we  have  a  refinement  of 
the  natural  feelings;  in  the  latter,  a  regeneration  of  the  inner- 
most being.  The  one  is  seen  in  later  antiquity,  the  other  in  the 
morality  taught  by  Jesus.  In  the  latter,  the  dominant  note  is 
the  conviction  that  it  is  through  the  divine  love  and  mercy,  and 
without  merit  of  his  own,  that  man  is  freed  from  all  suffering  and 
called  to  infinite  blessedness.  This  becomes  a  source  of  over- 
flowing joy  and  gratitude,  and  creates  a  gentle  and  peaceable 
disposition.  The  new  exhortation  is,  not  to  repel  violence  and 
hatred  however  much  evil  men  may  do,  but  to  triumph  over  it 
inwardly  by  submissiveness  and  love.  Every  wrong  without 
exception  is  to  be  forgiven,  in  view  of  the  boundless  forgiveness 
which  man  expects  and  receives  from  God. 

In  this  new  kingdom  man  cannot  be  intent  upon  having 
precedence  of  others,  or  upon  reserving  anything  for  himself. 


THE  FOUNDATION  163 

Rather,  the  conviction  of  his  complete  dependence  upon  the 
merciful  love  of  God  produces  a  deep  humility  and  a  cheerful 
readiness  to  subordinate  self  to  others,  and  to  serve  them: 
"Just  as  the  Son  of  man  is  come,  not  that  he  may  be  served, 
but  that  he  may  serve."  Likewise,  all  dispute  with  others,  all 
dwelling  upon  their  faults,  is  prohibited.  This  spirit  of  genuine 
leniency  is  manifest  in  Jesus's  saying  regarding  the  attitude  of 
men  toward  his  mission :  "  For  he  that  is  not  against  us  is  for  us." 

But  even  above  the  requirement  that  man  should  live  peace- 
ably, show  clemency,  and  be  eager  to  serve  his  fellowmen,  is  the 
command  to  love  one's  enemies,  and  gladly  to  do  good  to  them. 
In  this  instance  also  the  teaching  is  not  entirely  new;  but  the 
revolution  in  life  which  makes  the  impossible  possible,  that  not 
only  gives  an  injunction  but  creates  the  power  to  obey  it,  is  new. 
For,  unquestionably,  the  injunction  conflicts  with  natural  feel- 
ing; it  would  be  impossible  of  fulfilment  without  the  establish- 
ment of  a  fundamentally  new  relation  among  men.  But  such 
a  relation  is  established  by  the  common  Fatherhood  of  God; 
this  bond  unites  men  from  within  hi  the  closest  relationship, 
and  kindles  a  love  that  stirs  the  innermost  being,  destroys  all 
unfeeling  emotions,  and  transforms  enmity  into  brotherly  love. 

Closely  connected  with  the  features  already  discussed  is  the 
disappearance  of  all  social  distinctions,  in  view  of  the  one  great 
purpose  in  life.  This  also  corresponds  to  a  general  movement 
of  the  time;  but  the  new  requirement,  ineffectual  as  mere  the- 
ory, attains  in  Christianity  the  power  of  complete  fulfilment, 
since  here  the  essence  of  life  is  really  sought  in  an  inner  core  of 
pure  humanity  which  differences  of  station,  education,  etc.,  do 
not  reach.  The  humanity  in  men  becomes  paramount,  wherever 
feeling  and  effort  are  governed  by  the  sense  of  the  common 
Fatherhood  of  God. 

The  ready  sympathy  for  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and 
the  helpful  and  self-sacrificing  character  of  the  morality  here 
unfolded,  make  the  care  of  the  poor  and  unfortunate  an  object  of 
special  commendation;  in  fact,  to  give  all  one  has  to  the  poor 
appears  as  the  perfection  of  conduct;  indeed,  it  becomes  the 


164  CHRISTIANITY 

peculiar  token  of  the  genuineness  of  conversion  to  the  kingdom 
of  God.  In  contrast  with  entrance  into  the  new  kingdom,  all 
worldly  concerns  are  necessarily  regarded  with  indifference;  to 
cling  to  them  becomes  an  unallowable  departure  from  that  upon 
which  salvation  alone  depends.  Accordingly,  there  is  here  no 
room  for  an  interest  in  civilisation,  in  art  and  science,  in  the 
shaping  of  social  conditions,  etc.  True,  the  parables  of  the  leaven 
and  of  the  grain  of  mustard  seed  presuppose  a  vigorous  further 
development,  and  require  a  tireless  activity;  they  who  are  the 
light  of  the  world  should  let  their  light  shine  before  men,  should 
preach  from  the  housetops;  the  salt  of  the  earth  must  not  lose 
its  savour.  But  all  this  concerned  the  extension  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven;  it  did  not  mean  that  general  conditions  were  to  be 
permeated  with  the  new  life.  These  were  matters  of  indiffer- 
ence to  Jesus,  and  necessarily  so;  nevertheless,  it  would  be  a 
mistake  to  ascribe  asceticism  to  him,  for  how  could  one  be 
called  ascetic  who  inaugurates  a  new  world,  and  with  mighty 
power  summons  the  whole  man  to  joyous  labour  for  it?  Who- 
ever is  repelled  by  this  indifference  of  Jesus  to  all  merely  worldly 
culture  can  only  forthwith  let  the  whole  of  Christianity  go,  since 
the  revelation  of  a  new  world,  opposed  to  the  temporal  sphere, 
is  inseparable  from  it. 

Thus,  in  the  proclaiming  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  there 
emerges  a  real  world  which  is  thoroughly  original,  genuine,  and, 
in  its  simplicity,  revolutionary.  Here  everything  is  youthful  and 
fresh;  the  whole  is  animated  by  a  mighty  impulse  to  gain  the 
entire  world  for  the  new  life.  But  just  because  the  new  king- 
dom cannot  brook  a  rival,  but  aims  at  dominating  the  whole 
world,  so  its  realisation  is  not  deferred  to  some  indefinite  future 
time;  rather  its  purpose  is  to  establish  itself  at  once,  and  forth- 
with to  subdue  all.  Hence  existence  is  thrown  into  the  deepest 
commotion,  although  not  into  headlong  haste  and  turbid  pas- 
sion. For  the  aspiration  which  Christianity  arouses  involves 
the  full  certainty  of  personal  possession;  and  above  all  outward 
activity  there  hovers  the  majesty  of  a  life  filled  with  blessed 
peace. 


THE  FOUNDATION  165 


(d)  The  Collision  with  the  World 

After  developing  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  new 
life,  we  must  next  consider  its  encounter  with  the  existing  world. 
The  relation  to  the  age  is  peculiarly  significant,  owing  to  the 
unique  position  which,  in  his  own  view  and  soon  also  in  the  be- 
lief of  his  followers,  Jesus  occupied.  For  he  proclaims  the  fact 
of  a  kingdom  of  God  not  merely  as  a  general  truth,  but  de- 
clares that  even  now,  and  through  him,  it  is  to  become  actual 
and  rule  over  all  the  earth.  Everyone  is  summoned  to  a  change 
of  heart  and  to  entrance  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  "The 
time  is  fulfilled,  and  the  kingdom  of  God  is  at  hand." 

But  the  answer  of  his  contemporaries  did  not  long  remain  un- 
certain. It  soon  appeared  that  the  multitude  was  momentarily 
attracted  and  even  carried  away,  but  not  permanently  won; 
while  the  attitude  of  those  in  authority  was  decidedly  hostile. 
The  official  religion,  as  has  often  been  the  case  within  Christen- 
dom itself,  became  the  bitterest  enemy  of  a  less  artificial  and 
truer  Me.  Thus  those  who  are  bidden  come  not  to  the  feast 
prepared  for  them;  the  one  matter  of  supreme  concern  meets 
with  cold  indifference,  or  with  unfriendly  rejection.  Indeed, 
the  rejection  even  goes  the  length  of  a  relentless  enmity.  Yet 
upon  the  other  hand,  even  the  best  among  the  small  band  of 
followers,  notwithstanding  the  loyalty  of  their  devotion  and  the 
warmth  of  their  love,  are  far  enough  from  meeting  the  require- 
ments of  the  upbuilding  of  a  new  world:  the  only  truly  great 
Apostle  was  not  won  until  after  Jesus's  death. 

Thus  the  prospect  of  an  immediate  triumph  of  the  new  king- 
dom inevitably  vanished.  Without  doubt  Jesus  himself  felt 
this,  and  was  thrown  by  it  into  profound  agitation  and  conflict. 
But  in  these  conflicts  he  won  an  inner  victory  which  was  com- 
plete and  entire.  Above  all  opposition,  above  all  doubt  and 
anxiety,  rises  the  steadfast  faith  that  the  triumph  of  evil  can 
be  only  momentary;  for  not  only  do  all  perplexities  and  doubts 
shatter  themselves  against  the  inner  presence  of  the  kingdom  of 


166  CHRISTIANITY 

God,  but  the  kingdom  itself  shall  achieve  also  an  outward  tri- 
umph. The  Messiah  will  return,  to  be  the  Judge  of  men  and 
to  establish  a  kingdom  of  God  upon  the  earth;  the  stone  which 
the  builders  rejected  shall  then  become  the  head  of  the  corner. 

How  far  these  experiences  and  feelings  were  unfolded  in 
Jesus's  own  mind,  and  modified  his  world  of  thought,  it  is  now 
hardly  possible  to  decide;  for  here  more  than  anywhere  else  it 
is  presumable  that  a  later  age  attributed  its  own  moods  and 
struggles  to  Jesus  himself.  In  any  case,  the  seriousness  of  his 
conviction  must  have  been  increased  and  an  element  of  sadness 
added  to  it,  when  the  opposition  of  the  world  became  so  over- 
whelming, and  the  upward  path  led  through  apparent  destruc- 
tion. Deeper  must  have  become  the  shadows,  more  powerful 
and  moving  the  summons.  The  chief  aim  now  was  to  remain 
steadfast  to  the  work  begun,  bravely  to  endure  persecution,  wil- 
lingly to  bear  even  the  most  grievous  wrong,  and  to  look  upon 
the  evil  of  the  present  as  insignificant  when  compared  with  the 
future  glory,  which  thenceforth  far  more  dominated  his  thoughts. 
At  the  same  time,  the  separation  from  the  world,  and  the  demand 
of  an  exclusive  devotion  to  the  one  aim,  became  still  more  im- 
perative; while,  on  the  other  hand,  all  indifference  and  hesita- 
tion were  still  more  decidedly  regarded  as  hostile.  This  accen- 
tuation of  the  opposition  probably  occasioned  the  saying:  "He 
that  is  not  with  me  is  against  me;  and  he  that  gathereth  not 
with  me  scattereth."  Likewise  that  other  saying,  which  illus- 
trates in  the  most  striking  manner  the  stern  exclusion  of  any 
middle  course:  "If  any  man  cometh  unto  me,  and  hateth  not 
his  own  father,  and  mother,  and  wife,  and  children,  and  breth- 
ren, and  sisters,  yea,  and  his  own  life  also,  he  cannot  be  my 
disciple." 

Yet  in  the  midst  of  all  the  disturbances  and  conflicts  there  is 
not  only  a  complete  confidence  in  final  victory,  but  even  afflic- 
tion loses  its  obstinacy  and  irrationality  in  the  presence  of  the 
thought  that  the  divine  decree  has  appointed  everything  to  be 
what  it  is,  and  that  even  the  malice  of  men  is  made  to  serve  the 
of  God.  And  even  if  the  thought  of  an  atonement  designed 


THE  FOUNDATION  167 

to  propitiate  the  wrath  of  God  at  the  sins  of  the  world  was  for- 
eign to  Jesus  himself,  it  was  certainly  his  conviction  that  the 
afflictions  of  the  just  serve  for  the  salvation  of  others,  and  thus 
become  an  evidence  of  love.  In  any  case,  the  various  dangers 
failed  to  make  him  hesitate;  the  last  decisive  step  was  taken 
with  vigorous  courage;  the  assault  upon  the  citadel  of  the  enemy 
was  boldly  made. 

The  suffering  and  death  of  Jesus  have  attained  a  peculiar  sig- 
nificance in  the  thought  of  Christendom;  together  with  the  doc- 
trine of  the  resurrection,  they  have  become  the  central  point  in 
the  faith  of  the  Church.  A  discussion  of  these  questions  cannot 
be  undertaken  in  the  present  work;  the  author's  personal  views 
upon  them  have  been  fully  expressed  in  his  book  entitled,  "The 
Truth  Contained  in  Religion."  Here  it  must  suffice  to  point 
out  that  even  a  purely  historical  view  of  the  death  of  Jesus 
would  be  forced  to  ascribe  to  it  a  far  greater  importance  than 
the  end  of  life  is  wont  to  have  with  other  heroes.  In  the  first 
place,  the  manliness  and  strength  inherent  in  the  personality  of 
Jesus  are  thrown  into  relief  and  visibly  emphasised  by  his 
courageous  attack  upon  a  foe  so  superior  in  power,  and  by  his 
steadfast  endurance  to  the  end.  Then  his  death,  with  its  deeply 
moving  and  agitating  impressions,  appeared  to  reveal  for  the 
first  time  to  the  inner  eye  of  his  followers  the  meaning  of  what 
was  taking  place  around  them;  not  till  then  did  the  figure  of  the 
Master  grow  hi  their  minds  to  superhuman  dimensions;  not  till 
then  did  such  powers  of  reverence  and  zealous  love  as  were 
latent  within  them  burst  forth  into  flames.  The  accounts  of 
Christian  tradition  respecting  a  bodily  resurrection  are  subject 
to  historical  criticism,  and  must  encounter  grave  doubts.  But 
beyond  all  question  are  the  facts  that  out  of  the  sudden  ruin  of 
their  hopes  there  arose  in  the  minds  of  the  disciples  an  immov- 
able conviction  of  the  inner  nearness  of  their  Lord  and  of  his 
speedy  second  coming  to  judge  the  world;  and  that  the  over- 
whelming catastrophe  did  not  overawe  and  weaken  them,  but 
raised  them  above  themselves,  and  endowed  them  with  the  ca- 
pacity for  a  heroism  and  martyrdom  of  their  own.  The  un- 


i68  CHRISTIANITY 

yielding  spirit  which  Jesus  manifested  toward  a  hostile  and  out- 
wardly so  superior  world,  and  the  dignity  which  he  preserved  in 
his  conflict  with  it,  gave  to  the  disciples  the  certainty  of  another 
order  of  things,  and  kindled  also  in  them  the  courage  to  take  up 
the  work  apparently  trampled  under  foot,  and  to  carry  it  for- 
ward with  unbounded  energy.  Moreover,  throughout  the  fur- 
ther development  of  Christianity,  Jesus' s  suffering  and  death 
have  given  a  peculiar  intimacy  to  the  relation  of  men  to  his  per- 
sonality; particularly  throughout  all  the  struggles  and  misfor- 
tunes of  early  Christianity  the  keynote  heard  is,  Let  us  show  our 
gratitude  to  Jesus,  who  suffered  and  died  for  us;  let  us  stand 
fast,  even  to  laying  down  our  lives  in  a  witness  of  death,  the 
"most  perfect  work  of  love."  True,  the  feeling  of  individuals 
often  enough  degenerated  into  sentimental  trifling;  but,  rising 
above  individual  feeling,  the  tragedy  of  Jesus's  death  brings 
vividly  before  the  consciousness  of  Christendom  the  tragic  char- 
acter of  our  own  world;  it  shows  with  a  force  not  to  be  ignored 
the  dark  mystery  and  the  deep  seriousness  of  human  destiny;  it 
successfully  prevents  all  superficial  attempts  to  rationalise  exist- 
ence, and  all  expedient  compromises  with  the  world  as  it  is. 
Other  religions  have  become  world  powers  through  their  vic- 
tories, Christianity  through  its  defeat.  For  there  grew  out  of  its 
outward  ruin  and  apparent  disappearance  the  triumphant  certi- 
tude of  a  new  world,  the  firm  conviction  that  in  this  new  world 
are  to  be  found  the  foundation  and  the  security  of  all  good; 
hence  all  the  problems  of  existence  are,  for  Christianity,  concen- 
trated upon  a  single  point,  and  the  turning  of  life  toward  the 
heroic  and  the  supersensible  is  achieved.  Yet  there  ceaselessly 
arises  thence  for  men  a  great  question,  a  great  doubt,  a  great 
summons,  a  great  hope. 

(e)  The  Permanent  Result 

In  considering  the  permanent  significance  of  Jesus,  we  should 
remind  ourselves  that  nowhere  does  the  leading  personality 
mean  more  than  in  the  sphere  of  religion — this  is  in  accordance 


THE  FOUNDATION  169 

with  the  chief  aim  of  religion.  Taken  seriously,  this  aim  may 
appear  to  be  altogether  unattainable.  Or,  does  it  not  seem 
hopeless  to  lift  man,  in  the  midst  of  his  human  existence,  to  di- 
vinity; to  ensure  him,  notwithstanding  his  dependence  upon  the 
course  of  the  world,  a  self-dependent  soul;  to  reveal  to  him,  in 
the  midst  of  temporal  limitations,  an  eternity  ?  Without  an  in- 
version of  the  natural  view  of  the  world  and  of  life,  without  a 
miracle,  it  cannot  be  done.  But  this  miracle  is  first  accom- 
plished in  the  life  and  being  of  creative  personalities;  then  by 
means  of  the  nearness  and  tangibility  thus  won  it  can  be  com- 
municated also  to  others,  and  finally  become  a  fact  for  the  whole 
of  mankind.  Hence  the  spiritual  depth  of  religions  is  meas- 
ured, and  their  character  determined,  chiefly  by  the  personal 
traits  of  their  founders;  it  is  they  who  infuse  an  inner  life  into 
the  framework  of  doctrines  and  ordinances,  who  oppose  to  all 
doubts  an  indisputable  body  of  facts,  who  continually  bring  re- 
ligion back  from  stereotyped  formulas  to  the  fresh  vigour  of  its 
source. 

When  so  much  depends  upon  the  personality  of  the  founder, 
it  was  an  incalculable  advantage  for  Christianity,  giving  it  a 
great  superiority  over  all  other  religions,  to  be  based  upon  the 
life  and  being  of  a  personality  which  was  raised  so  high  and  so 
securely  above  the  lower  things  of  human  nature,  and  above  the 
antagonisms  which  ordinarily  cleave  life  in  twain.  There  ap- 
pears here,  united  with  homely  simplicity,  an  unfathomable  pro- 
fundity; united  with  a  youthful  gladness,  a  great  seriousness; 
and  united  with  the  most  perfect  sincerity  of  heart  and  tender- 
ness of  feeling,  a  mighty  zeal  for  holy  things,  and  an  invincible 
courage  for  the  battle  with  the  hostile  world.  Trust  in  God  and 
love  of  man  are  here  bound  together  in  an  inseparable  unity; 
the  highest  good  is  at  once  a  secure  possession  and  an  endless 
task.  All  utterance  has  the  fragrance  of  the  most  delicate  poetry; 
it  draws  its  figures  from  the  simple  occurrences  in  surrounding 
nature,  which  it  thereby  ennobles;  nowhere  is  there  extravagance 
or  excess,  such  as  at  once  attracts  and  repels  us  in  oriental  types; 
instead,  an  exalted  height  of  pure  humanity  in  the  form  of  pro- 


iyo  CHRISTIANITY 

nounced  individuality,  affecting  us  with  a  marvellous  sense  of 
harmony.  And  this  personality,  by  its  tragic  experiences,  is  at 
the  same  time  a  prototype  of  human  destiny,  whose  impressive 
pathos  must  be  felt  even  by  the  most  hardened  mind. 

So  far  as  the  image  of  Jesus  remained  a  present  reality — and 
it  could  never  wholly  vanish  for  his  followers — Christianity  pos- 
sessed a  sure  guardian  spirit,  protecting  it  from  sinking  into 
pettiness  and  the  indolent  routine  of  every  day,  from  becoming 
crystallised  and  commonplace,  and  from  falling  into  the  ration- 
alism of  dogma  and  the  Pharisaism  of  outward  piety;  it  pos- 
sessed a  power  of  turning  from  all  the  complexity  of  historical 
development  to  the  simplicity  of  the  essentially  human;  a  power 
also  of  adhesion,  as  against  all  the  separations  into  sects  and 
parties  which  threatened  Christianity  even  from  the  first. 
Thus,  within  Christianity,  the  movement  of  development  has 
ever  and  again  reverted  to  Jesus,  and  has  always  drawn  from 
him  something  new.  Thenceforth,  Christianity  became  a  per- 
petual ideal  to  itself.  The  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  often  falsely 
understood  as  a  blind  imitation,  was  the  watchword  of  all  striv- 
ing after  the  purity  of  the  original  teaching,  of  every  effort  to 
Christianise  Christianity;  hence  to  trace  its  historical  develop- 
ment means  to  reveal  the  inner  history  of  Christianity. 

This  interpretation  of  Jesus  retains  its  full  force  also  for  us 
moderns,  who  feel  ourselves  separated  in  many  ways  from  his 
world  of  thought.  The  separation,  in  truth,  extends  only  to  a 
certain  point,  beyond  which  it  tends  instead  to  effect  a  reunion. 
But  it  ought  to  be  perfectly  clear  that  Jesus  represents  a  definite 
and  distinctive  profession  of  faith  concerning  final  questions 
and  spiritual  goods,  that  consequently  the  acceptance  of  him 
requires  certain  fundamental  convictions,  and  that,  as  in  the 
case  of  every  creative  mind,  so  above  all  in  his,  men  are  divided, 
and  will  be  through  all  time. 

The  immediate  expectation  of  the  kingdom  of  God  made 
Jesus  indifferent  to  all  questions  of  mere  civilisation  and  of  the 
social  order;  hence  on  these  matters  neither  sanction  nor  coun- 
sel can  be  expected  from  him.  This  separates  him  definitely  from 


THE  FOUNDATION  iyr 

those  to  whom  the  development  of  civilisation  is  the  chief  sub- 
stance and  the  sole  aim  of  human  existence;  it  tends  only  the 
more  to  attract  to  him  those  who  perceive  the  inadequacy  of  all 
mere  civilisation,  and  who  see  in  the  secure  establishing  of  a 
new  world  upon  the  fundamental  relation  of  man  to  the  Infinite 
and  Eternal  the  only  possible  salvation  of  the  soul. 

More  important,  because  more  pertinent  to  the  proper  sphere 
of  religion,  is  another  consideration.  Modern  research  has 
shown,  incontrovertibly,  the  close  connection  of  all  Jesus's  doc- 
trines with  his  belief  in  the  speedy  regeneration  of  the  world, 
in  the  immediate  coming  of  the  kingdom  of  God;  even  the 
ethics,  with  its  gentleness,  peaceableness  and  joyfulness,  derives 
its  true  significance  from  the  expectation  of  the  speedy  coming 
of  glory;  apart  from  this,  it  may  easily  appear  sentimental  and 
overstrained.  But  the  above  belief  has  been  shown  by  the 
course  of  history  to  be  erroneous;  what  Jesus  looked  upon  as 
something  to  be  swiftly  and  once  for  all  decided,  has  become  an 
endlessly  renewed  question  and  problem.  Not  easily,  and  not 
without  momentous  transformation,  has  Christianity  adjusted 
itself  to  the  change.  Has  it  not  thereby  also  receded  from  Jesus, 
even  placed  itself  in  opposition  to  him?  The  change  is  unmis- 
takable, and  a  rejection  of  Christianity  unavoidable  for  any  one 
who  sees  in  the  world  of  our  immediate  existence  the  only  reality, 
the  final  unfolding  of  the  spiritual  life.  Whoever,  on  the  other 
hand,  looks  upon  this  world  only  as  a  special  form  of  being; 
whoever  is  unable  to  see  the  possibility  of  spiritual  self-preser- 
vation, or  any  meaning  and  reason  in  all  the  untold  trouble  and 
labour  of  life,  apart  from  the  living  presence  of  a  new  world  of 
independent  and  triumphant  spirituality,  will  joyfully  and  grate- 
fully acknowledge  the  fact  that  Jesus  gave  powerful  and  irre- 
sistible expression  to  the  nearness  and  presence  of  such  a  world. 
Not  only  by  his  teachings,  but  still  more  by  his  life  and  suffering, 
he  created  a  breach  with  the  immediate  world;  he  deprived  it 
and  all  its  goods  of  value;  he  compelled  men  to  look  beyond  it, 
and  implanted  in  them  an  imperishable  longing  for  a  new 
world.  The  form,  which  we  now  recognise  as  transitory,  was 


172  CHRISTIANITY 

then  an  indispensable  means  of  inducing  his  age  to  acknowl- 
edge the  new  kingdom,  and  put  forth  its  strength  in  support  of 
it.  Let  us  not  be  robbed  of  the  eternal  substance,  because  of 
the  temporal  wrapping.  So,  even  on  this  point,  we  should 
realise  that  we  are  far  less  separated  from  than  at  one  with 
him,  i.  e.,  we  who  recognise  the  great  contrast,  and  at  the  same 
time  seek  to  rise  above  it. 

Accordingly,  even  the  very  necessary  efforts  for  a  renewal  of 
Christianity,  for  a  more  active  and  more  universal  Christianity, 
such  as  are  being  made  to-day  with  ever  increasing  effect,  do 
not  need  to  break  with  Jesus;  rather,  even  they  place  them- 
selves in  the  service  of  the  truth  revealed  by  him,  and  with  full 
conviction  appropriate  the  saying  of  Peter:  "Lord,  to  whom 
shall  we  go  ?  thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life." 

B.  EARLY  CHRISTIANITY 

Before  we  turn  to  consider  the  history  of  the  Christian  views 
of  life,  we  must  glance  briefly  at  the  difficulties  which  the  con- 
cept of  history  encounters  in  this  sphere.  Religion  and  history 
are  in  their  nature  contradictory.  For,  just  as  religion  must  pro- 
claim its  truth  to  be  divine,  so  it  must  treat  this  truth  as  immut- 
able; and  just  as  it  reveals  a  new  world,  so  it  must  produce  in- 
difference toward  the  old.  Christianity  accentuated  this  oppo- 
sition in  a  peculiar  degree.  Neither  Jesus  himself,  nor  his  disci- 
ples, nor  the  early  Christians,  believed  that  they  stood  at  the 
beginning  of  a  long  development;  rather,  they  looked  for  the 
end  of  the  world,  for  the  coming  of  eternal  glory,  in  the  imme- 
diate future.  It  took  centuries  before  the  hope  of  a  speedy  re- 
turn of  the  Messiah  faded;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  upbuilding  of  the 
Church  into  complete  independence  and  into  a  world-dominat- 
ing power  which  eventually  forced  that  idea  into  the  back- 
ground, since  the  Church  then  asserted  that  the  kingdom  of 
God  was  actually  present.  The  Church  herself,  however,  as  the 
bearer  of  an  immutable  truth,  has  never  conceded  that  there 
was  any  inner  development  in  essentials.  It  is  also  significant 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  173 

that  Luther,  so  soon  as  the  traditional  conception  of  the  Church 
was  shattered,  at  once  fell  under  the  power  of  the  idea  of  a 
speedy  end  of  the  world;  this  fact  alone  makes  his  later  activity 
in  particular  intelligible. 

Nevertheless,  Christianity  has  a  history.  It  has  one,  in  the 
first  place,  for  the  reason  that  it  belonged  to  very  different 
epochs,  and  the  characteristics  of  these  epochs  mingled  in  its 
formation.  For,  little  as  religion  is  to  be  regarded  merely  as  an 
element  of  civilisation,  it  cannot  escape  the  influence  of  the  life 
surrounding  it.  The  age  in  which  Christianity  received  its  pro- 
visional founding,  the  age  of  the  decline  of  antiquity,  is  in  fact  far 
too  exceptional  to  form  the  normal  type  of  all  ages,  and  to  sway 
the  whole  future  of  humanity;  it  was  necessary  for  Christianity 
to  transcend  the  age  of  its  birth,  and  it  did  so;  but  therewith 
religion  too  was  drawn  into  the  movement  of  history. 

So  far,  however,  the  movement  might  appear  only  as  contin- 
gent and  enforced.  Yet,  with  all  its  initial  indifference  toward 
the  world,  Christianity,  as  a  permanent  power  in  human  life, 
has  an  inner  need  both  of  drawing  the  world  to  itself,  and  of 
further  realising  itself  in  the  world.  It  must  not  remain  an 
affair  of  mere  individuals.  With  such  a  limitation,  it  would  not 
so  much  as  satisfy  the  individual,  since  even  in  him  will  be 
found  an  element  of  world-nature;  rather,  it  must  build  up 
a  connected  whole  of  life,  a  Christian  world.  But,  to  that  end, 
it  must  enter  into  a  positive  relation  with  the  life  of  civilisation, 
although  indirectly  rather  than  directly,  by  means  of  the  trans- 
formation of  the  whole  man.  Whoever  ridicules  the  idea  of  a 
Christian  civilisation,  of  Christian  sciences,  etc.,  only  shows 
that  he  thinks  meanly,  not  only  of  religion,  but  also  of  science 
and  of  civilisation.  Such  a  reciprocal  relation,  however,  such 
give  and  take,  necessarily  involves  the  entrance  of  Christianity 
into  the  movements  of  general  life,  and  consequently  its  possess- 
ing a  history. 

This  history  falls,  however,  into  two  main  divisions,  an  early 
and  a  modern  Christianity;  the  former  characterised  by  the 
relation  to  antiquity,  the  latter  by  the  relation  to  the  modern 


174  CHRISTIANITY 

world.  The  connection  with  antiquity  still  powerfully  affects 
contemporary  forms  of  Christianity,  and  occasions  a  great  many 
serious  difficulties.  But  this  fact  ought  not  to  make  us  unjust 
toward  the  earlier  phase  of  Christianity.  For  the  time,  this 
phase  was  necessary,  if  indeed  Christianity  was  to  rise  from  a 
mere  sect  to  a  spiritual  world-power,  and  leave  its  impress  upon 
the  general  state  of  affairs.  For  it  could  not  attach  itself  to  any 
other  civilisation  than  that  which  then  ruled  the  world,  and 
which,  hi  the  universal  belief  of  men,  represented  the  final  result 
of  human  effort.  Furthermore,  the  fruitfulness  of  the  union  of 
the  two  worlds  is  incontestable.  True,  antiquity  has  often  ex- 
ceeded the  position  assigned  to  it  by  the  Christian  view;  par- 
ticularly in  the  matter  of  concepts  and  doctrines,  it  often  seems 
as  though  Christianity  had  been  ingrafted  upon  antiquity  rather 
than  antiquity  upon  Christianity.  But  Christianity  was,  and 
remained,  the  moving,  progressive  force;  in  spite  of  the  deluge 
of  classical  and  late  Greek  systems  of  thought  which  swept  over 
it,  it  never  gave  up  the  battle  for  self-preservation  and  self-de- 
velopment. And  if  the  total  result  does  not  usually  rise  above 
the  plane  of  a  more  or  less  skilful  combination,  it  always  presents 
important  problems,  and  in  one  instance — that  of  Augustine — it 
reaches  a  height  which  places  it  on  a  level  with  the  great  achieve- 
ments of  all  ages,  and  also  gives  it  a  worth  which  persists  through- 
out all  changing  conditions.  Since  Augustine  thus  represents 
the  highest  point  attained  by  the  early  Christian  views  of  life, 
and  accordingly  forms  the  chief  subject  of  our  present  consid- 
eration, he  may  also  be  taken  as  determining  the  sub-divisions 
of  the  period :  all  that  was  accomplished  before  him  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  preparation,  all  subsequent  achievement  as  a  further 
development  of  his  thought. 

I.  THE  PRE-AUGUSTINIAN  PERIOD* 

The  account  of  the  Christian  views  of  life  before  Augustine 
presents  peculiar  difficulties.  Since  no  single  achievement  rises 
to  classical  proportions,  we  must  content  ourselves  with  a  gen- 

•  See  Appendix  G. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  175 

eral  survey.  But  there  are  not  only  many  differences  among  in- 
dividuals, and  the  permanent  contrast  between  the  Greek  and 
Roman  mind ;  there  is  also  a  gradual  change  in  the  character  of 
the  whole.  For,  with  the  more  rapid  growth  of  Christianity 
which  began  at  the  close  of  the  second  century  and  further  in- 
creased after  the  middle  of  the  third  century,  organisation  took 
precedence  of  the  individual,  and  outward  performance  prece- 
dence of  the  inner  spirit,  while  the  magical  gained  ever-increas- 
ing prominence.  We  hope  to  do  justice  to  these  difficulties  by 
presenting  glimpses  of  the  whole  from  different  points  of  view, 
and  by  noting  in  passing  the  individual  deviations. 

(a)  A  Sketch  of  the  First  Centuries 

The  utterances  of  the  early  centuries  respecting  human  life 
and  destiny  are  more  important  as  signs  of  a  new  life  than  as 
theoretical  achievements.  In  an  age  when  Christian  communi- 
ties had  to  struggle  hard  both  outwardly  and  inwardly,  when 
the  expectation  of  an  ecstatic  bliss  caused  men  to  live  more  in 
faith  and  hope  than  in  the  sensible  present,  when,  finally,  the 
main  body  of  believers  consisted  of  the  poor  and  the  ignorant, 
there  was  little  room,  and  small  incentive,  for  a  connected  treat- 
ment and  a  theoretical  discussion  of  convictions  about  life.  It 
was  less  a  personal  need  than  the  necessity  of  defence  that  called 
forth  expositions  of  doctrine;  and  inasmuch  as  these  were  de- 
signed for  the  outside  public,  it  was  the  single  points  of  contact 
and  of  difference  rather  than  the  whole  in  and  for  itself  which 
obtained  consideration.  Moreover,  in  order  to  influence  unbe- 
lievers, it  was  necessary  to  speak  from  their  standpoint,  and  to 
make  allowances  for  their  prejudices.  Hence  the  documents  of 
the  period  are  mainly  exoteric  in  character,  and  much  that  they 
contain  is  rationalistic  and  utilitarian.  What  at  that  time  filled 
the  hearts  of  men  is  revealed  much  more  clearly  by  early  Chris- 
tian art,  and  a  visit  to  the  Catacombs  transports  one  more  di- 
rectly into  the  real  life  of  the  age  than  all  the  philosophical 
works  taken  together.  In  one  respect,  however,  the  latter  pos- 


176  CHRISTIANITY 

sess  a  value  of  their  own;  they  permit  us  to  see  how  far  what 
was  new  and  characteristic  had  come  to  distinct  consciousness, 
and  how  much  capacity  there  was  to  meet  unbelievers  with  the 
grounds  for  the  new  faith.  The  various  expositions,  however, 
gain  consistency  only  through  reference  to  the  life  behind  them. 

The  views  of  life,  also,  show  that  morality  was  the  bone  and 
marrow  of  early  Christianity:  strictness  in  morals  and  inner 
purity  were  the  primary  requirement.  The  resemblance  to  the 
Stoics  and  Cynics  of  the  time  is  obvious;  but  there  are  also  im- 
portant differences.  Side  by  side  with  the  subjectivity  of  man, 
the  Stoics  posit  what  is  essentially  a  logical  and  physical  order  of 
things;  but  such  an  order  cannot  give  the  individual  universal 
spiritual  relations,  and  so  provide  a  support  for  his  efforts. 
For  the  Christian  teachers,  on  the  other  hand,  God,  the  perfect 
moral  spirit,  is  present  throughout  the  world;  for  them,  the 
good  is  the  ruling  power,  even  beyond  the  human  sphere. 

But  this  faith  is  accompanied  by  the  conviction  that  imme- 
diate experience  nowise  harmonises  with  it,  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, experience  yields  much  suffering  and  is  full  of  unreason. 
To  turn  these  to  good  requires  the  help  of  God,  for  man's  power 
is  insufficient;  hence  a  religious  faith  is  here  closely  intertwined 
with  moral  conviction.  However,  morals  are  rather  strength- 
ened and  supported  by  it  than  spiritualised  and  deepened;  in- 
ward religious  feeling,  longing  for  a  life  inspired  by  infinite  per- 
fection, very  rarely  finds  expression;  religion  appears  rather  as 
a  means  of  human  happiness  than  as  an  end  in  itself.  Although 
a  profounder  sort  of  religion  may  have  been  active  deep  down 
in  the  soul,  it  failed  to  show  itself  in  theoretical  discussions. 

A  further  contrast  with  ancient  philosophy  appears  in  the  fact 
that  attention  is  directed  less  to  individuals  than  to  the  meliora- 
tion of  the  whole  of  humanity.  Thus  many  new  problems  are 
raised,  and  the  style  of  exposition  is  changed.  The  theoretical 
view  gives  place  to  what  lives  in  the  common  consciousness; 
the  immediate  impression,  the  simple  human  feeling,  is  devel- 
oped with  more  freedom  and  expressed  more  openly;  the  whole 
gains  in  warmth  and  lucidity.  But  popularising  beliefs  not  only 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  177 

endangers  the  perfection  of  form  and  the  precise  determination 
of  concepts;  often  the  mind  is  also  carried  away  by  the  anthro- 
pomorphism of  the  popular  view,  and  the  heightened  mood  is  not 
sufficiently  held  in  check  by  an  objective  consideration  of  things. 

Hence,  a  sketch  of  the  early  Christian  thinkers  should  not 
take  theoretical  knowledge  as  the  foundation,  as  was  done  in 
the  case  of  antiquity;  rather,  it  is  the  rdle  of  faith,  i.  e.,  here,  the 
comprehension  and  acceptance  of  the  divine  message,  to  trans- 
mit the  truths  on  which  the  salvation  of  man  depends.  A  strong 
inclination  develops  to  depreciate  the  faculty  of  knowledge  in 
favour  of  faith;  it  is  made  to  appear  as  a  fault  of  pride  to  attempt 
to  penetrate  the  last  secrets  and  to  comprehend  the  contents  of 
faith.  "About  God  we  may  learn  only  from  God"  (Athenag- 
oras).  The  Greeks,  in  whom  the  old  delight  in  knowledge 
was  ineffaceable,  were  in  this  respect  in  general  more  moderate; 
with  the  Latins,  the  belittling  of  knowledge  was  often  exagger- 
ated to  the  point  of  positive  distrust  of  all  man's  mental  facul- 
ties. In  two  important  respects,  faith  appeared  to  possess  an 
advantage,  viz.,  certainty  and  universal  intelligibility.  The 
philosophers  had  to  seek  the  truth,  while  the  Christians  already 
possessed  it;  faith  all  could  share,  while  theoretical  knowledge 
was  the  privilege  of  the  few.  since  the  multitude  lack  the  leisure 
necessary  for  investigation.  "Every  Christian  workman  knows 
God,  and  manifests  Him,  and  signifies  by  his  deed  all  that  God 
requires  of  him,  while  Plato  declares  that  the  Architect  of  the 
Universe  is  not  easy  to  find,  and,  when  found,  is  difficult  to  im- 
part to  all"  (Tertullian). 

The  focus  of  early  Christian  faith  is  the  idea  of  God.  On 
this  point  important  deviations  develop,  deviations  not  only 
from  the  popular  faith  but  also  from  the  philosophical  views  of 
the  ancients.  Now  for  the  first  time  there  is  a  strict  monothe- 
ism, which  accepts  the  one  invisible  God,  but  no  demi-gods; 
now  for  the  first  time  polytheism  disappears,  although  it  must 
be  admitted  that  it  later  crept  in  again  in  a  modified  form  in  the 
hagiolatry  of  Christianity  itself.  Now  all  reality  is  recognized 
as  immediately  constituted  by  the  infinite  Spirit;  nature,  in  con- 


178  CHRISTIANITY 

sequence,  loses  the  old  pantheistic  deification.  To  the  senti- 
ment of  antiquity  this  loss  necessarily  appeared  intolerable;  the 
new  world  offered  in  its  stead  seemed  cold  and  desolate;  it  was 
no  paradox  when  their  opponents  reproached  the  Christians 
with  atheism.  The  ancient  conceptions  of  deity  were,  in  fact, 
destroyed  by  the  new  faith;  but  the  new  idea  of  God,  with  its 
imageless  reverence  and  its  paucity  of  names,  lacked  the  tangi- 
bility and  the  individuality  upon  which  the  old  way  of  thinking 
rested.  On  their  part,  the  Christians  not  only  appealed  to  the 
inner  presence  of  the  Divine  Being,  but  believed  that  there  flowed 
thence  into  nature  also  new  life.  Invisible  angels,  so  they 
thought,  hold  undisputed  sway  throughout  the  whole  of  nature; 
all  creatures  pray;  and  in  innumerable  instances,  such,  e.  g.,  as 
the  flight  of  birds,  devout  observation  may  detect  the  sign  of  the 
Cross.  Just  as  such  divine  life  does  not  spring  from  the  force 
of  mere  nature,  but  is  transfused  into  things,  so  nature  every- 
where points  beyond  itself  to  a  higher  order. 

By  the  surrender  of  all  relationship  with  conceptions  of  na- 
ture, the  idea  of  God  approached  nearer  to  man,  the  free  moral 
being.  Although  the  expression  does  not  occur,  we  could  speak 
here,  with  more  justice  than  in  the  case  of  the  Greeks,  of  the 
personality  of  God.  But  the  merely  human  is  not  sufficiently 
eliminated,  unpurified  human  emotions  being  often  transferred 
to  the  Supreme  Being.  In  fact,  much  commotion  was  occa- 
sioned among  the  Fathers  by  the  question  whether  it  would  do 
to  speak  of  the  anger  of  God,  and  thus  to  ascribe  an  emotion  to 
the  Supreme  Being.  To  do  so  would  be  in  direct  contradiction 
with  the  doctrines  of  the  ancient  philosophers;  but  the  fear  of 
the  anger  of  God  was  the  strongest  motive  of  conduct  in  the 
Christian  communities — a  fact  which  is  attested  even  by  the 
thinkers  who  regard  that  passion  as  incompatible  with  pure 
conceptions  of  God.  Still,  to  nearly  all  thinkers  emotion  seemed 
indispensable;  without  the  anger  of  God  there  can  be  no  fear 
of  God,  and  without  this  no  stability  in  civil  society. 

As  the  work  of  an  omnipotent  God,  the  world  cannot  be 
other  than  good.  Hence  the  order  and  beauty  of  nature  are  ex- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  179 

tolled — not  seldom  in  contrast  with  the  confusion  and  suffering 
of  human  life — and  held  up  to  unbelievers  as  a  striking  proof  of 
the  existence  of  God;  to  every  unprejudiced  mind  the  glorious 
works  of  nature  must  clearly  proclaim  the  invisible  Overseer. 
The  world,  however,  has  a  fixed  boundary  not  only  in  space,  as 
was  believed  even  in  antiquity,  but  also  in  time,  as  was  now 
taught  in  opposition  to  the  ancient  philosophy  of  history. 
There  is  no  endless  series  of  cycles;  but,  just  as  it  has  a  begin- 
ning, so  the  world  has  an  end,  in  time;  whatever  takes  place  in 
it,  above  all,  the  great  conflict  of  God  with  evil,  happens  once 
and  never  again,  although  the  consequences  extend  through  all 
eternity.  The  importance  of  human  conduct  is  emphasised  to 
the  utmost  by  this  new  philosophy  of  history;  and  the  old  way 
of  thinking  is  charged  with  implying  the  uselessness  of  all  striv- 
ing, since,  according  to  it,  whatever  is  achieved  is  again  lost,  and 
every  undertaking  must  begin  anew.  The  duration  of  the  world 
is  not  only  fixed,  but  is  also  short;  six  thousand  years  are  often 
assigned  as  its  limit,  with  the  added  explanation  that  while  the 
world  was  created  in  six  days,  in  the  sight  of  God  a  day  is  as  a 
thousand  years.  Even  now  the  end  of  the  world,  and,  with  it, 
the  Last  Judgment,  seem  near.  This  belief  arose  in  the  first 
instance  from  the  confident  expectation  of  a  speedy  return  of 
the  Messiah;  it  still  persisted  later,  however,  because  the  fading 
of  the  Messianic  hope  was  counterbalanced  by  the  growing  im- 
pression of  the  decline  of  civilisation,  the  aging  of  humanity. 
Even  as  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  century,  Lactantius 
believed  that  the  world  would  not  endure  beyond  a  few  centu- 
ries. Hence  no  vista  of  an  extended  history  opened  before  the 
Christianity  of  this  age.  So  much  the  more  important  became 
the  present,  and  so  much  the  more  imperative  the  decisions  of 
the  present. 

No  less  did  a  new  attitude  of  man  toward  the  world  operate 
as  an  incitement  to  activity.  In  spite  of  all  the  teachings  of  the 
Stoics  respecting  the  supremacy  of  man,  antiquity  persisted  on 
the  whole  in  subordinating  him  to  the  world.  But  now  that  his 
moral  nature  conferred  upon  man  a  supreme  worth,  he  became 


i8o  CHRISTIANITY 

the  centre  and  purpose  of  the  universe:  all  is  for  his  benefit; 
even  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  make  obeisance  to  him.  But 
his  responsibility  increases  with  his  importance;  his  conduct 
determines  the  destiny  of  the  world;  his  Fall  brought  evil 
into  the  world,  and  caused  all  the  suffering  that  the  present 
state  of  things  shows.  For  the  origin  of  evil  lies  in  the  freedom 
of  man,  not  in  the  dark  forces  of  nature.  Thus  the  ancient  doc- 
trine of  the  obstructing  and  degrading  power  of  matter  also  dis- 
appears; for  nothing  is  worthless  which  has  been  created  by  the 
divine  omnipotence.  Likewise,  man  dare  not  now  despise  his 
body  as  something  foreign  and  common;  nor  may  he  heap  upon 
his  sensuous  nature  all  the  responsibility  for  evil;  for  the  body, 
too,  belongs  to  our  being,  and  there  is  no  complete  immortality 
without  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  This  doctrine  was  very 
repugnant  to  the  Greeks;  and  it  was  only  after  compromises 
and  evasive  interpretations  that  their  greatest  teachers  sub- 
scribed to  the  faith  of  the  Church. 

But  the  higher  we  exalt  the  position  of  man,  the  keener  be- 
comes the  sense  of  his  present  misery.  For  the  present  state  of 
the  world  must  be  regarded  as  altogether  unsatisfactory.  Innu- 
merable dangers  and  afflictions  beset  us  from  without  and  from 
within :  there  the  irrationality  of  things,  here  our  own  passions. 
In  particular,  as  is  natural  at  a  time  of  serious  conflict,  thought 
dwells  upon  the  helplessness  of  the  good  as  compared  with  the 
hostile  forces.  Moreover,  there  is  no  hope  that  the  state  of 
things  will  improve  with  the  lapse  of  time,  or  that  through  an 
order  inherent  in  things  the  history  of  the  world  will  come  to  be 
its  own  Judgment.  Amid  natural  conditions  the  good  ever  re- 
mains powerless,  the  truth  must  always  suffer.  Hence  the  hope 
of  the  speedy  coming  of  a  new  world  alone  sustains  the  spirit 
and  makes  work  joyful;  all  desire  is  focussed  upon  that  super- 
natural future;  and  at  service  a  frequent  form  of  prayer  is, 
"May  grace  come,  and  the  present  world  pass  away!" 

The  opening  up  of  this  prospect  is  the  main  thing  in  the 
Christian  Evangel.  However,  the  nature  of  Christianity  is  little 
discussed,  and  such  discussion  as  there  is  fails  to  bring  out  the 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  181 

deeper  feeling  of  the  Christian  community.  The  Apologists  of 
the  second  century  looked  upon  Christianity  as  a  God-given 
doctrine  of  reason,  supplementing  such  reason  as  exists  in  man 
and  manifests  itself  in  history.  Especially  characteristic  of  this 
doctrine  are  an  exclusive  reverence  for  the  one  invisible  God,  and 
an  exaltation  solely  of  morality — a  morality  wholly  inward  and 
based  upon  free  conviction,  as  constituting  the  true  worship  of 
God.  Even  at  a  later  time  the  greatness  of  Christianity  was 
found  less  in  the  revelation  of  a  new  content,  in  a  spiritual  ele- 
vation of  mankind,  than  in  a  more  universal  and  more  powerful 
realisation  of  the  end  and  aim  of  all  men.  Now  for  the  first 
time  Christianity  appeals  to  the  whole  man,  and  instead  of  re- 
maining mere  skill  in  words  and  doctrines  becomes  a  thing  mani- 
fest in  deeds.  The  loftier  estimate  of  the  personality  of  Jesus 
and  the  more  devout  reverence  for  him  seldom  find  expression  in 
the  writings  of  the  time,  although  contemporary  art  gives  unmis- 
takable evidence  of  their  presence  in  the  community.  Great 
importance  is  universally  attributed  to  Jesus's  death,  but  defi- 
nite explanation  and  justification  of  it  are  wanting.  Writers 
dwell  for  the  most  part  upon  the  belief  that  Jesus  had  destroyed 
the  power  of  evil  spirits,  and  had  begun  a  regeneration  of  man- 
kind. Yet,  profounder  speculations  also  appear.  Thus,  Ire- 
naeus  believed  that  in  Christ  the  eternal  became  human,  that 
what  was  mortal  was  absorbed  by  the  immortal,  and  that  there- 
by we,  too,  become  sons  of  God.  Only  in  this  manner  could  the 
mutable  be  raised  to  the  immutable.  This  process  of  reasoning 
was  permanently  adopted  by  the  Greek  Church. 

How  men  thought  regarding  the  essence  of  Christianity  ap- 
pears also  from  the  manner  of  its  defence.  On  this  point  a  shift- 
ing from  particular  to  universal  took  place  with  the  lapse  of  cen- 
turies. At  first,  the  strongest  evidence  of  truth  was  found  in  the 
fulfilment  of  Old  Testament  prophecies;  what  holy  men  fore- 
told before  it  occurred  must  be  from  God.  Then  the  miracles 
of  healing  performed  in  the  name  of  Jesus  were  pointed  to,  par- 
ticularly the  driving  out  of  devils,  of  which  men  believed  that 
1iiey  had  daily  evidence.  Even  the  broadest  and  freest  mind 


182  CHRISTIANITY 

before  Augustine,  even  Origen,  held  these  two  proofs  in  high 
esteem.  But  as  Christianity  gained  in  strength,  its  own  power 
and  effects  became  the  chief  evidence.  The  moral  condition  of 
the  Christian  communities,  it  was  pointed  out,  is  incomparably 
better  than  that  of  surrounding  heathendom;  only  divine  om- 
nipotence could  confer  on  Christianity  the  power  to  purify  men 
and  make  them  steadfast  in  the  face  of  cruel  persecutions;  only 
divine  help  could  enable  it  to  grow  in  spite  of  untold  misfortunes. 
"For  the  blood  of  Christ  is  a  seed"  (Tertullian) ;  "The  more  it 
is  repressed,  the  more  the  religion  of  God  grows"  (Lactantius). 
Likewise  the  spread  of  Christianity  over  all  peoples  serves  as  an 
evidence  of  its  truth;  such  an  astonishing  advance  in  the  face  of 
the  hostile  and  more  powerful  world  could  not  have  taken  place 
without  divine  assistance.  Moreover,  that  the  Roman  Empire, 
speaking  roughly,  began  simultaneously  with  Christianity  and 
inaugurated  an  era  of  peace,  was  believed  to  have  favoured  the 
spread  of  Christianity,  and  to  have  been  brought  about  by  the 
appearance  of  the  peace-making  Saviour.  Furthermore,  the 
Apologists  did  not  hesitate  to  make  the  most  of  the  utility  of  re- 
ligion for  civil  life  and  social  order:  only  the  fear  of  the  con- 
demnation and  punishments  of  God  compels  the  multitude  to 
obey  the  laws.  And  the  ethical  elevation  of  Christianity  nat- 
urally was  not  overlooked.  It  devotes  all  its  power  to  the  im- 
provement of  men:  in  the  opinion  of  Origen  the  miracles  of 
Jesus  are  raised  far  above  those  of  all  heathen  magicians  by  the 
fact  that  they  are  not  conjurer's  tricks,  but  always  have  a  moral 
aim.  The  intrinsic  advantage  of  Christian  morality  consists  not 
so  much  in  new  doctrines  as  in  the  communication  of  a  power 
to  perform  tasks  which  otherwise  would  exceed  the  capacities  of 
men.  The  gentleness,  peaceableness,  fortitude,  and  patience  of 
the  Christian  are  lauded.  Particularly  is  it  the  new  attitude 
toward  suffering  which  everywhere  comes  to  the  fore.  "We 
are  distinguished  from  those  that  know  not  God  by  the  fact  that 
in  misfortune  they  complain  and  grumble,  while  we  are  not  di- 
verted by  evils  and  pain  from  the  truth  of  virtue  and  faith,  but 
are  made  thereby  only  the  stronger"  (Cyprian).  Likewise,  the 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  183 

more  intimate  relation  to  one's  fellow-men  is  often  extolled.  "  Who- 
ever bears  his  neighbour's  burden,  whoever  essays  to  help  the  less 
capable  in  that  wherein  he  himself  is  superior,  whoever  by  com- 
municating the  gifts  of  God  to  them  that  have  need  becomes  a 
god  to  the  recipients,  that  one  is  an  imitator  of  God"  (Epistle  to 
Diognetus).  By  Eusebius  (c.  270-340),  the  moral  effects  of 
Christianity  are  compressed  into  a  single  view:  "It  gives  to  all 
a  share  in  divine  truth;  it  teaches  how  to  bear  with  a  noble 
mind  the  malice  of  the  enemy,  and  not  to  ward  off  evil  by  evil 
means;  it  elevates  above  passion  and  anger  and  all  fierce  de- 
sires; in  particular,  it  impels  us  to  share  our  own  possessions 
with  the  poor  and  needy,  to  greet  every  man  as  kin,  and  to  rec- 
ognise even  in  the  stranger — according  to  an  inner  law  annulling 
the  external  rule — a  neighbour  and  a  brother." 

Because,  then,  of  its  gentleness,  patience,  and  humanity, 
Christianity  feels  itself  superior  to  its  opponents.  Yet  the  pow- 
erful longing  for  happiness  and  the  expectation  of  a  new  world 
do  not  permit  this  tenderness  to  degenerate  into  effeminacy,  nor 
the  self-denial  of  believers  into  indolent  resignation.  The  early 
Christian  suffers  and  denies  himself,  but  he  does  so  in  the  se- 
cure hope  of  a  higher  happiness;  he  thinks  not  less  but  more 
of  man  and  his  aims.  Lactantius  writes  his  chief  work  with  the 
definite  intention  "of  inducing  men  not  to  depreciate  them- 
selves, as  certain  philosophers  do,  and  regard  themselves  as  pow- 
erless and  useless  and  worthless  and  as  born  altogether  in  vain: 
an  opinion  which  drives  the  majority  to  vice." 

It  is  further  a  powerful  incitement  to  effort,  that  man  must 
of  his  own  initiative  make  the  decision  for  or  against  God.  For, 
although  the  early  Christian  was  closely  identified  with  an  his- 
torical tradition  and  a  social  environment,  the  great  choice  on 
which  his  destiny  hung  was  none  the  less  his  own  act.  The 
complete  freedom  of  the  will  was  asserted  with  more  confidence, 
barring  a  possible  exception,  than  ever  before  or  since;  its  denial 
appeared  to  destroy  all  moral  responsibility,  indeed,  all  moral 
worth:  "There  would  be  nothing  worthy  of  praise,  if  man  had 
not  the  capacity  to  turn  in  either  direction"  (Justin).  To  accen- 


184  CHRISTIANITY 

tuate  responsibility  to  the  utmost  was  indeed  a  life-and-death 
matter  with  early  Christianity.  Hence,  freedom  was  pro- 
claimed, not  as  a  doctrine  advanced  by  individual  thinkers,  but 
as  the  common  conviction  of  the  Christian  Church;  and  it  was 
viewed  as  extending  beyond  conduct  to  matters  of  belief;  even 
faith  was  thought  to  depend  upon  the  free  decision  of  man;  to 
accept  false  doctrines  concerning  God  appeared  to  imply  moral 
guilt.  No  obligation  was  felt  to  give  a  psychological  explana- 
tion of  freedom;  likewise,  the  relation  of  man's  freedom  to 
God's  omnipotence  as  yet  caused  no  anxiety.  For  reality  is 
here  viewed  from  the  human  and  not  from  the  divine  stand-point. 
From  convictions  such  as  these  there  results  a  life  full  of 
power,  emotion,  and  spiritual  activity.  The  one  supreme  aim  is 
to  remain  true  to  God  through  the  dedication  of  all  one's  facul- 
ties to  Him.  Man  is  confronted  with  a  momentous  alternative: 
Either  success  and  enjoyment  in  life,  with  eternal  ruin;  or  bliss 
beyond,  with  continual  conflict  and  suffering  here.  In  making 
such  a  choice  prudence,  if  nothing  more,  would  give  the  prefer- 
ence to  boundless  eternity  instead  of  to  the  short  span  of  time. 
For  the  present,  evil  rules  and  exercises  grievous  oppression; 
even  if  the  enemy  be  inwardly  condemned,  outwardly  he  re- 
mains triumphant  and  can  inflict  cruel  wrongs.  Hence,  the 
mind  must  elevate  itself  above  the  sensuous  present  by  the 
power  of  faith,  and  in  joyful  hope  lay  hold  of  the  invisible  better 
world.  With  regard  to  immediate  surroundings,  it  is  chiefly 
courage  that  is  needed,  courage  in  the  sense  of  fortitude.  Thus 
patience  is  often  extolled  as  the  crowning  virtue.  In  this  re- 
spect, the  early  Christian  was  in  part  near  to  the  Stoic,  in  part 
far  removed  from  him  and  antagonistic.  Even  the  Christian 
should  be  a  hero  and  bid  defiance  to  all  the  world.  Especially 
the  occidental  Christians  were  fond  of  calling  themselves  "sol- 
diers of  God";  and  of  the  thinkers  Cyprian  in  particular  de- 
lighted in  metaphors  drawn  from  military  affairs  and  the  lives 
of  soldiers.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Christian  thinkers  are  di- 
rectly opposed  to  the  Stoics  in  the  treatment  of  the  feelings  and 
emotions.  How  could  Christianity  have  summoned  men  to  a 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  185 

complete  revolution  in  their  lives,  and  at  the  same  time  have 
repressed  all  emotion  and  commended  the  "apathy"  of  the 
Stoics!  The  new  life  is  not  born  until  man  has  been  profoundly 
stirred  by  penitence  and  contrition;  and  in  its  hovering  between 
the  visible  and  invisible  worlds,  it  is  ceaselessly  swayed  this  way 
and  that  by  fear  and  hope.  Hence,  the  aim  is  not  to  suppress  or 
even  to  moderate  the  emotions,  but  to  guide  them  in  their  full 
strength  in  the  right  direction:  let  the  fear  of  God  liberate 
from  all  other  fear.  "Fear  is  neither  to  be  uprooted,  as  the 
Stoics  demand,  nor  to  be  tempered,  as  the  Peripatetics  say; 
rather  it  is  to  be  directed  in  the  right  way,  and  special  care 
is  to  be  taken  that  only  that  form  of  fear  remains  which,  as 
the  true  one,  allows  nothing  else  to  become  an  object  of  fear" 
(Lactantius). 

The  absorption  of  the  whole  man  in  the  one  aim  leaves  him 
no  opportunity  to  take  part  in  the  work  of  civilisation;  con- 
cerned, as  he  is,  with  salvation  and  future  blessedness,  such 
work  could  attract  him  little,  and  certainly  the  less  in  propor- 
tion as  the  ancient  world  fell  into  a  rapid  decline  after  the  fail- 
ure of  the  attempts  at  restoration  in  the  second  century.  Thus, 
early  Christianity  manifests  no  impulse  to  improve  general 
conditions,  or  to  engage  in  the  investigation  of  the  natural 
world;  in  both,  aloofness,  if  not  open  disapproval,  is  shown, 
according  to  the  differences  among  individuals  and  to  the  con- 
trast of  Greek  and  Latin  types  of  mind.  Art,  also,  which  was 
by  no  means  of  slight  importance  to  the  spiritual  life  of  the 
early  Christians,  nowhere  finds  recognition  among  the  thinkers. 
In  this  disregard  of  art  there  is  also  operative  a  reaction  against 
the  antique  delight  in  form,  which  appeared  to  the  early  Chris- 
tians to  be  an  over-valuation  of  the  unmeaning  exterior  after 
the  fading  and  gradual  disappearance  of  its  living  content.  In- 
asmuch as  form  contributed  nothing  toward  gratifying  their 
longing  for  happiness,  it  was  condemned  as  being  indifferent, 
worthless,  even  seductive;  while  all  effort  was  directed  toward 
the  content,  the  disposition,  the  moral  constitution.  Even  a 
Clement  could  say,  "The  beauty  of  every  creature  resides  in  its 


i86  CHRISTIANITY 

excellence."  The  Latins,  however,  carried  the  contempt  for 
form  to  the  point  of  indifference  to  grammatical  accuracy. 
"What  harm  is  done,"  asks  Arnobius,  "if  an  error  in  case  and 
number,  in  preposition,  particle,  or  conjunction,  is  made?" 
Such  views  are  close  to  a  barbaric  disdain  for  all  culture,  and 
already  breathe  the  mediaeval  spirit.  But  they  are  intelligible 
in  connection  with  their  age,  and  they  indicate  a  turning-point 
in  human  endeavour  whose  consequences  endured  for  more 
than  a  thousand  years.  It  was  the  Renaissance  which  first 
brought  about  a  change,  and  restored  form  again  to  honour. 

But,  although  the  early  Christian  thinkers  show  their  strength 
in  the  exclusive  exaltation  of  the  state  of  the  soul,  even  here  the 
picture  is  not  without  its  shadows.  The  vehemence  of  their 
clamouring  for  happiness  places  them  far  behind  the  ancient 
Greek  thinkers  in  the  matter  of  the  motives  of  conduct.  While 
the  latter  with  one  accord  attribute  an  intrinsic  beauty  to  good- 
ness, and  elevate  the  joy  felt  in  this  beauty  into  the  chief  im- 
pulse of  worthy  conduct,  the  majority  of  the  Church  Fathers, 
particularly  the  Latin  Fathers,  insist  strenuously  upon  an  ample 
reward  of  virtue.  Virtue  is  regarded  as  a  mere  means  to  bles- 
sedness, a  blessedness  painted  with  a  glowing  fancy,  and  ex- 
pected with  perfect  confidence  in  the  Beyond.  In  this  contem- 
plation of  future  ecstasy,  the  actual  moral  life  appears  to  be- 
come indifferent,  at  least  there  is  no  evidence  of  joy  in  it.  In 
fact,  the  early  Christians  do  not  shrink  from  calling  it  folly  for 
any  one  to  suffer  the  pains  which  the  life  of  virtue  in  this  world 
involves,  viz.,  labour  and  privation,  grief  and  shame,  without 
a  sure  promise  of  a  great  reward,  or,  conversely,  for  any  one  to 
shun  evil  without  the  expectation  of  severe  punishment.  "If 
there  were  no  immortality,  it  would  be  wise  to  do  evil,  foolish  to 
do  good"  (Lactantius).  The  sharp  contrast  with  their  sur- 
roundings, and  the  tremendous  tension  of  the  general  state  of 
things,  may  explain,  and  to  some  extent  excuse,  such  crass 
utterances;  also,  it  should  be  noted  that  the  Christian  Fathers, 
with  their  popular  attitude,  reflect  the  feeling  of  the  multitude, 
and  seek  to  work  upon  it,  while  the  ancient  thinkers  addressed 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  187 

themselves  chiefly  to  the  few  eminent  individuals.  None  the 
less,  it  remains  true  that  in  the  purity  of  the  moral  motive  the 
majority  of  the  Church  Fathers  fall  far  behind  the  philosophers 
of  Greece. 

The  greatness  of  early  Christian  thought  lies  in  the  develop- 
ment of  an  independent  sphere  of  life,  in  the  upbuilding  of  an 
all-inclusive  organisation.  Into  this  were  gathered  what  there 
was  of  intimacy  of  feeling  and  of  capacity  for  conduct;  here 
arose,  amid  all  the  asceticism,  a  new  world,  a  realm  of  joyful 
and  fruitful  activity.  It  was  in  itself  something  great  that  here, 
despite  all  the  disruption  and  friction  of  the  times,  the  firm  foot- 
hold for  the  individual,  which  had  so  long  been  vainly  sought, 
was  found;  that  here  a  community  of  thought  and  feeling  arose, 
which  provided  every  one  with  a  secure  intellectual  existence 
and  with  important  aims.  Here  each  felt  the  closest  ties  with 
others;  those  who  believed  in  Christ  formed  one  soul  and  one 
community.  Here  was  realised  with  greater  fulness  and  truth 
that  ancient  simile  which  likened  society  to  an  organism;  the 
believers  lived  with  one  another  and  for  one  another  like  the 
members  of  one  body;  what  each  experienced  immediately 
affected  the  others  also.  As  a  consequence  of  the  fact  that  the 
Christian  communities  were  composed  chiefly  of  the  poor,  and 
also  in  consequence  of  the  constant  danger,  if  not  actual  perse- 
cution, to  which  they  were  exposed,  the  inevitable  battle  with 
privation  and  suffering  became  the  principal  concern  of  life. 
In  addition  to  the  private  charities,  there  was  formed  an  organ- 
isation of  the  Church  for  works  of  benevolence  which  spread 
itself  over  the  several  communities.  The  widows  and  the  or- 
phans, the  sick  and  the  infirm,  the  poor  and  the  incapable,  the 
imprisoned  and  the  persecuted,  ought  to  be  helped  and  were 
helped.  Yet,  with  all  the  strain  put  upon  men's  powers,  the 
movement  did  not  fall  into  extravagance;  all  the  concentra- 
tion of  thought  upon  the  future  did  not  prevent  an  honest 
appreciation  of  labour,  an  earnest  devotion  to  it,  and  a  thought- 
ful and  clear-headed  employment  of  the  existing  means.  In 
particular,  duty  was  never  enforced  by  outward  compulsion; 


i88  CHRISTIANITY 

help  was  never  exacted  in  the  form  of  a  demand,  but  awaited  as 
a  freely  offered  service.  That  in  practice  many  difficulties  arose 
is  shown  by  the  repeated  complaints  of  the  Church  Fathers  at 
the  lukewarmness  and  the  scantiness  of  alms;  but  this  fact  was 
not  permitted  to  affect  the  general  view  respecting  free-will 
offerings.  Although  outwardly  divided,  property  was  to  be 
regarded  as  essentially  held  in  common;  its  possessor  should 
consider  himself  as  its  steward,  never  as  its  proprietor.  Thus, 
each  should  use  only  what  is  necessary  for  life,  and  offer  the 
remainder  to  the  brethren.  For  it  is  unjust  that  one  person 
should  revel  in  abundance  while  many  are  in  want.  This  in 
itself  makes  luxury  in  all  its  forms  objectionable.  Similarly, 
any  attempt  at  the  selfish  accumulation  of  material  goods,  in 
particular  the  exploiting  of  commercial  advantages,  is  pro- 
hibited. In  order  to  counteract  desires  of  this  sort,  Lac- 
tantius  transplanted  to  Christian  soil  the  Aristotelian  inter- 
diction of  every  form  of  interest  charges,  a  prohibition 
which  thereafter  became  a  permanent  part  of  the  ecclesiastical 
rule  of  life. 

Coupled  with  the  struggle  against  poverty  was  that  against 
immorality.  The  Christians  were  surrounded  by  a  polished  and 
luxurious  civilisation;  dazzling  and  exciting  pleasures  allured 
and  enticed;  the  lax  conscience  of  the  age  knew  how  to  dis- 
pose of  moral  scruples  in  a  facile  manner.  The  conflict  was  with 
a  powerful,  almost  irresistible,  current;  no  wonder  that,  at  least 
in  theory,  every  compromise  was  rejected,  and  that  their  oppo- 
sition took  the  harshest  form.  All  mere  pleasure  was  forbidden, 
all  ornaments  prohibited:  one  could  easily  become  lax  through 
their  use,  and  thus  fall  under  the  power  of  external  things. 
These  sentiments  crystallised  into  fixed  rules  and  regulations; 
many  pagan  amusements,  e.  g.,  the  gladiatorial  combats,  were 
condemned  on  principle;  and,  in  general,  abstention  and  cau- 
tion were  recommended.  Most  determined  of  all  was  the 
attack  upon  sexual  impurity,  a  matter  upon  which  heathen  sen- 
timent was  very  lax.  A  new  spirit  also  showed  itself  in  the  fact 
that  the  same  strictness  in  morals  was  demanded  of  the  men  as 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  189 

of  the  women;  and  further,  in  the  greatly  increased  difficulty  of 
divorce,  which  contemporary  Judaism  as  well  as  heathenism 
made  decidedly  easy. 

If  we  consider  that  the  early  Christians  believed  that  all  these 
things  were  achieved  in  God's  sen-ice,  and  also  that  they  were 
themselves  animated  by  a  lively  expectation  of  a  new  world,  we 
cannot  wonder  that  there  developed  within  the  Christian  Church 
a  lofty  self-consciousness,  and  that  all  inner  relationship  with 
heathenism  was  decisively  broken  off.  They  regarded  themselves 
as  a  world-people,  who  would  spread  themselves  over  the  face 
of  the  whole  earth;  as  the  militant  people  of  God:  their  com- 
monwealth appeared  to  have  been  directly  inaugurated  by  God, 
and  to  surpass  every  human  alliance.  This  commonwealth,  as 
is  explained  by  Origen,  alone  possessed  the  character  of  perma- 
nence. For  here  ruled  the  natural  law  given  of  God,  while  civil 
laws  originate  with  men,  and  by  men  are  arbitrarily  changed. 
This  Christian  commonwealth  alone  has  the  character  of  uni- 
versality; as  the  divine  fatherland,  it  seeks  to  include  and  to 
rescue  all  men,  while  political  states  are  necessarily  divided 
according  to  peoples.  Herewith  the  Christian  commonwealth 
appears  as  the  heart  of  the  total  life  of  humanity,  as  the  original 
people,  which  had  existed  since  the  beginning  of  history,  and 
from  whom  was  borrowed  everything  of  truth  to  be  found 
among  other  peoples. 

Hence,  the  Christian  could  be  in  no  doubt  as  to  his  decision 
in  the  conflict  with  the  civil  order  which  became  inevitable  at 
the  time  of  the  worship  of  the  deified  emperors :  in  danger  and 
in  extremity,  in  ignominy  and  in  death,  God  must  protect  the 
faithful.  The  unbelievers  naturally  rejected  this  aloofness 
(d/itfta)  as  politically  and  morally  inadmissible;  and  they 
saw  to  it  that,  in  addition  to  compulsory  measures,  philosophi- 
cal arguments  also  were  not  wanting.  But  these  did  not  pro- 
duce the  desired  impression;  the  Christians,  on  their  part,  per- 
sisted in  identifying  the  contrast  between  the  religious  and  civil 
communities  with  that  between  the  divine  and  human  orders. 
Even  at  that  time  all  those  claims  were  raised  on  behalf  of  the 


190  CHRISTIANITY 

Church  which  have  endured  throughout  the  Middle  Ages  and 
down  to  the  present  time. 

Thus  there  were  not  wanting  the  seeds  of  serious  complications, 
which  later  gave  Christianity  trouble  enough.  Moreover,  let  it  be 
borne  in  mind  that  the  thought  of  the  time  was  dominated  by  a 
decided  anthropomorphism;  that  there  mingled  with  the  moral 
aims  not  a  little  selfish  clamouring  for  happiness;  that  not  sel- 
dom passion  and  fanaticism  broke  forth  with  gruesome  violence. 
Still  other  dark  shadows  will  later  occupy  us.  Particularly 
after  the  third  century,  the  multitude  were,  on  the  whole,  rather 
disciplined  than  moralised.  But  even  the  disciplining  should 
not  be  undervalued;  for  an  extended  domain  of  life  was  thus 
won  for  nobler  aims.  A  new  beginning  was  made,  fresh  life 
awakened,  the  seeds  of  great  developments  sown.  In  particu- 
lar, the  power,  joyfulness,  and  truth  of  the  movement  as  a  whole 
must  appeal  to  us,  so  long  as  the  stern  battle  with  an  over-mas- 
tering environment  prevented  life  from  falling  into  idle  routine 
and  preserved  it  from  all  sham  and  hypocrisy.  Thus,  at  the 
time  of  the  decline  of  a  venerable  and  opulent  civilisation,  and 
amid  an  upheaval  of  all  the  relations  of  life,  Christianity  offered 
a  firm  support  and  revealed  a  lofty  ideal  to  humanity;  and  its 
adherents  might  suitably  and  with  full  justice  describe  them- 
selves as  the  soul  of  the  world. 

(b)  Early  Christian  Speculation 

(a)   CLEMENT  AND  ORIGEN 

The  attempts  to  convert  Christianity  into  a  speculative  knowl- 
edge, first  made  in  the  Orient,  also  belong  to  a  consideration  of 
the  problem  of  life.  For  knowledge  in  this  case  does  not  mean 
mere  thinking  about  life,  it  means  the  innermost  soul  of  life,  the 
elevation  of  life  to  the  plane  of  perfect  truthfulness.  In  this 
sense,  it  draws  to  itself  all  the  living  warmth  of  the  emotions, 
and,  hand  in  hand  with  its  own  growth,  it  increases  the  inti- 
macy and  delicacy  of  feeling. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  191 

The  beginning  is  made  by  two  Alexandrians,  Clement  (after 
189  active  as  a  teacher)  and  Origen  (185-254).  Both  seek  to 
press  forward  from  faith  to  knowledge-;  but  Clement  does  not 
go  beyond  the  general  outlines,  and  turns  his  thought  princi- 
pally in  the  direction  of  morals,  while  Origen  erects  a  great 
speculative  system,  the  first  upon  Christian  soil. 

Clement  is  a  most  zealous  advocate  of  knowledge  as  opposed 
to  faith.  The  problem  is  not  very  difficult,  however,  since  for 
him  faith  means  only  a  lower  stage  of  knowledge,  an  acceptance 
of  a  doctrine  on  the  ground  of  mere  authority.  It  is  under- 
standing, so  he  shows,  that  first  makes  knowledge  the  full  prop- 
erty of  man;  only  with  understanding  does  thought  penetrate 
beyond  the  metaphor  to  the  thing,  beyond  the  blind  datum  to 
the  luminous  reason.  Genuine  understanding  is  capable  of  so 
engrossing  the  man,  that  he  does  not  so  much  possess  knowledge 
and  insight,  as  himself  becomes  knowledge  and  insight.  It  is 
with  knowledge  alone  that  we  attain  a  pure,  unselfish  joy,  and 
no  longer  need  a  reward.  Whoever  demands  a  reward  for  the 
labour,  sells  his  conviction,  and  becomes  a  child;  the  true 
"Gnostic,"  on  the  contrary  (Clement  is  fond  of  this  expression, 
while  Origen  avoids  it),  has  been  ripened  into  manhood  by  the 
love  of  God,  and  wants  nothing  but  the  truth  itself.  If  we  had 
to  choose  between  knowledge  and  eternal  bliss,  we  should  be 
forced  to  relinquish  the  latter.  But  the  crown  of  all  knowledge 
is  the  knowledge  of  God.  In  such  knowledge  man  is  lifted 
above  time  and  space  into  immutable  being,  and  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  God,  "deified"  (Oeovftevas).  Herewith  all  emotion 
is  laid  aside,  the  Stoic  ideal  of  "apathy"  realised.  In  view 
of  the  inwardness  of  such  a  life,  the  mind  needs  no  special 
proofs;  all  tenets  and  ordinances  of  an  external  sort  lie  in  a  plane 
far  beneath.  The  true  Gnostic  praises  God  at  all  times,  not 
merely  on  certain  days  and  at  stated  hours;  his  whole  life  is  an 
act  of  worship. 

There  was  danger  that  this  lofty  attitude  might  separate  the 
immediate  followers  from  the  congregations,  and  thus  disrupt 
Christendom.  But  Clement  fought  against  the  danger  with  all 


192  CHRISTIANITY 

his  power.  There  let  knowledge  rule,  here  faith;  both  aim  at 
the  same  truth,  and  allegorical  interpretation  points  out  the 
way  to  bring  the  two  forms  into  accord :  there  let  the  love  of 
the  good,  here  the  fear  of  punishment,  actuate  men's  conduct; 
for  in  both  cases  the  same  deeds  are  required,  and  the  common 
work  of  the  community  unites  both  in  a  single  aim.  In  fact, 
knowledge,  which  at  first  threatens  to  separate  men,  rather 
unites  them  through  the  active  love  which  springs  from  it.  For, 
just  as  the  act  of  knowing  is  an  unselfish  surrender  to  the 
truth,  so  it  also  kindles  an  ardent  impulse  toward  the  manifest- 
ing of  love.  "Works  follow  knowledge  as  shadows  follow  a 
body."  Love  is  to  be  manifested  first  toward  Christ,  by  un- 
flinching witness  even  to  the  point  of  the  willing  surrender  of  life, 
the  "most  perfect  work  of  love";  then  by  a  ceaseless  activity  for 
the  Christian  community.  That  all  worth  here  resides  in  the 
disposition,  results  in  another,  freer,  and  more  joyful  attitude 
toward  the  world  and  its  goods;  the  true  victory  over  the  world 
means,  not  outward  aloofness,  but  an  inner  triumph.  To  be 
saved,  the  rich  man  must  renounce  his  wealth,  not  outwardly 
but  inwardly;  he  does  so  by  placing  it  all  at  the  service  of  the 
community,  and  by  not  using  for  himself  more  than  is  required 
for  the  maintenance  of  life.  In  this  spirit,  marriage  is  not 
shunned,  as  a  worldly  entanglement,  but  its  significance  deep- 
ened; it  is  then  heartily  commended,  "for  the  sake  of  the  father- 
land, and  in  order  to  co-operate  according  to  our  powers  in  the 
perfecting  of  the  world."  Nowhere  else  in  the  early  Church 
does  the  life  of  the  family  receive  such  loving  treatment  as  is 
accorded  to  it  by  this  thinker.  "The  most  beautiful  of  ail 
things  is  a  domestic  woman,  who  adorns  herself  and  her  hus- 
band with  her  own  handiwork,  so  that  all  rejoice,  the  children 
in  the  mother,  the  husband  in  the  wife,  the  wife  in  the  husband, 
and  all  in  God." 

This  more  friendly  attitude  toward  life  is  accompanied  by  a 
higher  estimate  of  the  world  and  of  history.  The  antago- 
nism between  Christianity  and  its  environment,  which  was  so 
keenly  felt  by  Clement,  did  not  prevent  his  extolling  the  order 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  193 

fixed  by  God  as  the  best  and  the  most  suitable.  He  looks 
upon  life  as  a  common  school,  and  upon  history  as  a  pro- 
gressive education  of  mankind.  As  a  part  of  this  educa- 
tion, as  a  preparation  (TrporreuSeta)  for  Christianity,  the 
culture  of  the  ancients,  particularly  their  philosophy,  receives 
full  recognition.  In  fact,  the  Christian  doctrine  is  character- 
ised as  a  selection  and  fusion  of  what  is  true  in  the  various 
systems. 

Surely  such  convictions  do  not  express  the  average  view  of  the 
Christian  communities;  Clement  himself  often  enough  men- 
tions the  dread  of  philosophy  exhibited  by  the  multitude,  to- 
gether with  the  opinion  that  it  comes  from  the  devil.  But  that 
amid  all  the  commotion  of  the  time  such  a  free,  inward  convic- 
tion was  at  all  possible,  is  a  circumstance  which  should  not  be 
omitted  from  a  survey  of  early  Christianity. 

Origen  was  the  first  to  work  out  a  comprehensive  system  of 
Christian  doctrine.  Yet  the  inner  core  of  the  system  is  not  Chris- 
tian but  Platonic.  The  Platonic  union  of  the  true  and  the  good, 
and  its  upward  striving  from  the  inconstant  flux  of  time  to  an 
immutable  being,  from  the  obscure  confusion  of  the  world  of 
sense  to  a  pure  spirituality,  dominate  the  thought  of  Origen. 
As  a  strong  outer  covering  we  then  have  the  Christian  element, 
not  only  in  the  greater  emphasis  and  the  more  personal  form  of 
the  moral  idea,  but  in  the  closer  connection  of  eternity  with 
time,  and  in  the  higher  estimate  of  the  historical  process  and  of 
the  human  race  as  a  whole.  From  the  interaction  of  both  lines 
of  thought  and  ways  of  feeling  there  results  a  highly  fruitful 
movement,  a  wide  realm  of  thought,  in  fact,  a  characteristic, 
typical  view  of  the  world  and  of  life.  But  a  complete  unification 
and  a  homogeneous  development  of  the  whole  sphere  of  life  is 
not  achieved;  despite  his  many  brilliant  qualities,  Origen  lacks 
the  greatness  of  creative  originality. 

The  conception  of  God  at  once  shows  a  fusion  of  various  ten- 
dencies. Origen  is  above  all  animated  by  the  determination  to 
eradicate  the  anthropomorphism  of  his  age,  and  to  exalt  the 


194  CHRISTIANITY 

conception  of  the  Supreme  Being  to  a  sublime  height  far  above 
everything  human  and  temporal,  and  inaccessible  even  to  our 
loftiest  thoughts.  Accordingly  we  have  only  negative  utterances, 
which  could  not  lead  to  any  sort  of  community  of  life  with  the 
Deity.  In  the  midst  of  negation,  however,  there  appears  in 
Origen  a  striving  after  affirmation.  For  when  he  rejects  certain 
ideas  with  special  emphasis,  the  opposite  is  virtually  accepted. 
In  distinction  from  the  multiplicity  of  things,  God  constitutes 
a  strict  unity;  in  distinction  from  the  finite  intermingling  of  the 
sensuous  and  the  spiritual,  pure  spirituality;  in  distinction  from 
the  flux  and  change  of  our  world,  immutable  being.  To  these 
results  of  speculation  there  is  added  as  a  new  feature  Origen's 
treatment  of  the  manifestation  within  the  world  of  God's  all- 
pervading  love  and  goodness;  it  is  this  which  first  brings  him 
into  closer  relation  with  the  faith  of  the  community.  Out  of  His 
goodness  God  created  the  world,  and  because  of  His  goodness 
He  permits  not  the  slightest  thing  to  be  lost.  His  love  embraces 
all  peoples  and  all  ages,  and  nothing  good  takes  place  among 
men  without  Him,  "the  God  over  all"  (o  em  TTOUTL  £eo<?),  as 
Origen  prefers  to  call  Him.  The  highest  proof  of  this  goodness 
is  found  in  Christianity,  which  involves  the  entrance  of  the  Divine 
into  the  world  and  the  union  of  time  and  eternity.  Here  for 
the  first  time  is  raised  to  full  distinctness  and  power  that  with 
which  the  world  can  never  dispense. 

But,  in  order  that  the  world  may  manifest  the  eternal  essence 
and  perfect  goodness  of  God,  it  must  be  larger  than  the  custom- 
ary Christian  conception  represents  it  to  be.  Although  Origen 
rejects  unlimited  extension  in  space,  using  the  characteristic 
Greek  argument  that  without  a  limit  it  could  not  possess  order 
and  system,  he  is  none  the  less  more  concerned  with  the  world's 
extent  than  with  its  limit.  In  the  case  of  time,  however,  dread  of 
undue  restriction  forces  him  to  break  with  the  common  concep- 
tion and  approach  closely  to  the  old  Greek  view  of  history.  Or- 
igen denies,  as  decisively  as  any  of  the  ancient  philosophers,  that 
the  world  had  a  beginning  in  time.  True,  this  present  world 
had  a  beginning,  just  as  it  will  have  an  end;  but  before  it  lay 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  195 

innumerable  other  worlds,  and  others  will  follow  it.  Our  pres- 
ent existence  is  only  a  link  in  an  endless  chain;  the  world,  in- 
cluding historical  Christianity,  only  one  world  among  many. 
To  the  Christian  thinker,  this  succession  of  worlds  appears, 
indeed,  not  as  a  mere  rhythm  of  the  course  of  nature,  but  as  a 
work  of  divine  creation;  creation  itself  becomes  a  progressive, 
ever-renewed  act,  instead  of  an  event  occurring  once  for  all. 
Likewise,  the  Stoic  doctrine  of  the  complete  likeness  in  charac- 
ter of  all  the  world-periods  finds  no  acceptance;  for  it  destroys 
the  freedom  of  decision,  something  that  forms  a  chief  element 
in  Origen's  belief.  Free  decision,  however,  is  sure  to  result  vari- 
ously and  give  to  the  several  wrorlds  individual  character.  Hence 
our  world,  distinguished  by  the  appearance  of  Christ,  may  very 
well  assume  a  peculiar  position. 

But  the  Greek  and  Christian  elements  here  tend  toward  an  ad- 
justment also  as  regards  the  content  of  the  world.  The  Greek 
view  looks  at  the  world  principally  under  the  contrast  of  the 
spiritual  and  the  material,  the  Christian  view  under  that  of 
moral  good  and  evil;  in  the  former,  evil  has  its  root  in  matter, 
in  the  latter,  in  voluntary  guilt.  Origen  makes  every  effort  to 
reserve  a  finer  sort  of  matter  for  the  good  without  in  any  way 
weakening  his  rejection  of  common  matter.  The  essence  of 
reality  consists  of  the  invisible  world  of  ideas — a  doctrine  which, 
thenceforth,  becomes  a  constituent  element  in  Christian  specu- 
lation; material  being  originates  subsequent  to  this  invisible 
world,  and  continually  requires  its  constituting  and  animating 
power.  But  as  the  work  of  God,  material  being  was  at  the  outset 
far  purer  and  finer  than  the  coarse  sensuousness  which  now  sur- 
rounds us;  its  lower  nature  came  as  the  result  of  the  voluntary 
degradation  of  spirits  which  were  unable  to  maintain  the  effort 
necessary  to  the  preservation  of  goodness.  Hence,  the  opposi- 
tion of  Christian  and  Greek  beliefs  appears  to  be  reconciled; 
the  final  decision  rests  with  the  moral  act,  but  immediate  feeling 
continues  to  be  swayed  by  aversion  to  common  matter,  and  thus 
the  way  is  open  for  an  ascetic  ideal  of  life.  But  asceticism  finds 
al»o  within  Christianity  a  theoretical  justification;  in  contrast 


196  CHRISTIANITY 

with  the  view  of  Clement,  a  stricter,  most  abstemious  conduct 
of  life  is  sharply  distinguished  from  that  of  the  average;  not 
only  the  disposition,  even  the  kind  of  conduct,  separates  the 
Christian  from  the  crowd. 

From  such  convictions  there  develops  a  characteristic  view  of 
the  destiny  and  problems  of  human  life.  Men's  souls,  as  a  chief 
part  of  the  divine  creation,  belong  to  the  permanent  state  of  the 
world,  and  accordingly  must  have  lived  before  this  present  ex- 
istence; they  are  found  here  below  in  consequence  of  their  own 
guilt;  their  goal  is  a  return  to  the  divine  height.  For  this  is  the 
abode  of  degradation  and  temptation;  the  body  with  its  weight 
draws  the  spirit  downward  to  lower  spheres  and  obstructs  all 
pure  joys.  But  the  power  of  the  mind,  with  its  faculty  of  knowl- 
edge, victoriously  opposes  matter,  and  amid  all  the  misery  of 
immediate  existence  there  persists  the  firm  trust  that  in  the  end 
nothing  can  be  lost  of  all  that  the  eternal  God  has  created  and 
protected  with  His  love.  Thus  the  speculative  and  the  ethical 
tendencies  of  Origen's  thought  unite  to  produce  the  belief  in  a 
complete  restoration  of  all  things,  in  a  return  to  the  divine  home 
even  of  him  who  has  gone  farthest  astray.  While  thus  the  course 
of  the  world  returns  quite  to  the  point  of  beginning,  and  in  the 
total  movement  nothing  is  either  lost  or  won,  the  whole  of  his- 
tory may  seem  to  be  merely  a  temporal  glimpse  of  eternity,  and 
all  the  work  of  the  world  threatens  to  sink  into  a  dreamy  unreality. 

With  this  return  to  pure  spirituality  and  complete  eternity, 
knowledge,  as  the  only  means  of  passing  from  appearance  to 
reality,  from  the  temporal  to  the  eternal,  becomes  the  chief  con- 
cern of  life.  Infinitely  higher  than  the  daily  religious  worship  is 
the  desire  for  the  pure  knowledge  of  God;  in  such  knowledge 
everything  temporal,  everything  sensuous  and  mutable,  is  tran- 
scended, and  man  is  wholly  absorbed  inGod,  transformed  into  God. 

Such  an  ideal  gives  to  Christianity,  which  embodies  it,  a  pe- 
culiar form.  Above  all,  Christianity  must  mean  something 
more  than  a  single,  although  pre-eminent,  point  in  history;  it 
must  encompass  the  whole  of  reality,  and  elevate  it  in  nature 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  197 

and  worth.  Its  essence  is  the  complete  presence  of  the  immu- 
table in  the  mutable;  it  is  the  super- temporal  activity  of  the 
Logos,  which  frees  all  its  disciples  from  time  and  transports 
them  to  eternity.  Thus  Christianity  for  the  first  time  reveals  a 
complete  knowledge  of  divine  being,  a  deification  of  man.  But 
a  distinct  transition  from  such  a  world-idea  to  historical  Chris- 
tianity is  wanting.  None  the  less  its  treatment  everywhere  dis- 
plays an  effort  after  universality,  a  broad  and  free  intelligence. 
Christianity  extends  its  activity  over  the  whole  of  history;  the 
advent  of  Christ  forms  the  climax  of  a  world-historical  move- 
ment. That  which  had  previously  existed  only  in  a  dispersed 
and  isolated  way  was  thereby  raised  to  dominating  power.  For 
from  the  very  beginning  God  has  taken  the  world  under  His 
protection,  and  at  all  times  there  have  been  just  men  and  those 
pleasing  to  Him.  But  in  Jesus  began  the  complete  union,  the 
"interweaving"  (a-ujf(/>an>e0-Sat),  of  divine  and  human;  and 
by  this  fellowship  -with  the  divine  human  nature  becomes 
divine,  not  only  in  Jesus,  but  in  all  who  accept  and  manifest  the 
life  revealed  in  him.  The  true  follower  ought  not  to  remain 
merely  a  believer  in  Christ  (xpurntadfy  but  himself  become 
a  Christ.  His  own  life  and  suffering  can  serve  for  the  salvation 
of  his  brethren.  Thus,  even  in  the  field  of  experience,  Chris- 
tianity appears  as  a  progressive  work,  ever  beginning  anew,  and 
extending  throughout  the  whole  of  history. 

As  regards  human  things,  Christianity  manifests  its  peculiar 
greatness  and  universality  chiefly  in  the  sphere  of  morals.  In 
Origen's  opinion,  it  laid  upon  men  no  new  commands;  but  it 
achieved  a  greater  thing,  in  that  it  gave  them  the  power  to  fulfil 
even  the  severest  injunctions,  penetrated  to  the  innermost  re- 
cesses of  the  moral  nature,  and  filled  their  hearts  with  tenderness 
and  charity.  So,  likewise,  it  is  ethical  greatness  and  ethical  in- 
fluence which  lift  the  personality  of  Jesus  far  above  that  of  the 
heroes  of  antiquity.  No  other  Church  Father  of  the  Orient  has 
dealt  so  intimately,  so  lovingly,  with  this  personality  as  Origen. 
He  dwells  upon  the  goodness  and  humanity  of  Jesus,  his  gen- 
t'eness  and  sweetness;  and  these  noble  feelings,  together  with 


198  CHRISTIANITY 

a  tranquillity  of  the  whole  being,  can  be  communicated  from 
him  to  us,  and  transform  us  into  Sons  of  Peace.  He  dwells  also 
upon  Jesus's  sufferings,  and  glorifies  martyrdom  accepted  from 
pure  love  as  the  only  adequate  gratitude. 

Thus  the  transformation  of  Christianity  into  speculation  did 
not  involve  in  this  instance  a  loss  in  warmth  of  feeling.  More- 
over, we  see  Origen  zealously  concerned  to  preserve  a  close  re- 
lationship with  the  Christian  community  both  in  the  matter  of 
faith  and  in  that  of  life  in  general.  As  to  doctrine,  allegorical 
interpretation  offered  a  convenient  expedient,  and  Origen  not 
only  freely  applied  this  method,  but  developed  it  in  technical 
resource.  But  as  to  life  and  conduct,  the  estimate  he  placed  upon 
morals  identifies  him  closely  with  his  environment,  while  his 
striving  for  an  eternal  and  universal  content  in  Christianity 
leads  him  to  exalt  the  Christian  community  above  the  state. 

Accordingly  we  find  that  the  broad  rich  mind  of  the  man  em- 
braces the  several  spheres  of  thought  and,  to  the  best  of  his  abil- 
ity, unifies  them.  But  complete  unity  is  not  attained.  Even  if 
morality  supplies  a  common  bond  between  the  Christianity  of 
the  cultivated  and  that  of  the  multitude,  even  if  the  exalted  esti- 
mate of  the  sacraments  unites  all  believers,  there  still  remains  at 
bottom  a  wide  divergence.  For  when  Origen  expresses  the  view 
that  Christianity  cannot  possibly  uplift  the  whole  human  race 
without  appealing  to  each  one  according  to  his  individual  ca- 
pacity and  without  accommodating  itself  to  the  powers  of  com- 
prehension even  of  the  less  intelligent,  the  contention  itself 
shows  how  sharp  the  contrast  was  between  the  cultivated  and 
the  masses,  and  how  far  removed  the  thinker  was  from  his  sur- 
roundings. Thus  there  remain  side  by  side  an  esoteric  and  an 
exoteric  Christianity.  The  former  by  its  increasing  indepen- 
dence achieves  an  extraordinary  breadth,  freedom,  and  inward- 
ness. But  it  soars  too  far  above  the  general  conditions  to  have 
any  marked  effect  upon  them.  Its  content,  too,  consists  rather 
of  Platonism  coloured  by  Christianity,  of  Hellenism  inwardly 
intensified,  than  of  the  constructive  elements  of  a  new  world 
and  a  new  order  of  life. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  199 

However  that  may  be,  the  type  of  Christianity  which  here- 
with received  its  stamp  permanently  triumphed  in  the  Orient 
and  also  exerted  a  profound  influence  upon  the  Occident.  True, 
the  increasingly  systematic  and  self-conscious  "orthodoxy" 
which  arose  naturally  took  exception  to  several  of  Origen's  doc- 
trines; and,  in  consequence,  his  followers,  who  felt  the  opposi- 
tion keenly,  were  forced  to  concede  modifications  of  the  funda- 
mental ideas  without,  however,  being  able  to  prevent  the  event- 
ual rejection  of  the  system.  Yet  in  its  innermost  substance  the 
above  orthodoxy  rests  upon  Origen's  intellectual  work:  "the 
history  of  dogma  and  of  the  Church  during  the  following  cen- 
turies is,  in  the  Orient,  the  history  of  Origen's  philosophy" 
(Harnack).  Down  to  the  present  time,  the  conception  of  Chris- 
tianity as  an  entrance  of  eternal  being  into  our  temporal  world, 
and  as  a  consequent  elevation  of  humanity  above  all  the  limits 
and  misery  of  this  world,  has  remained  dominant  in  the  Orient. 
Questions  of  the  precise  content  of  history,  and  of  the  unique- 
ness of  the  life  of  Jesus,  pale  before  the  fundamental  fact  of  the 
Incarnation;  correspondingly,  Christian  dogma  formed  under 
Greek  influence  has  not  the  slightest  word  to  say  either  of  a  char- 
acteristic content  of  the  life  of  Jesus,  or  of  a  spiritual  peculiarity 
of  Christianity.  Dogma,  in  fact,  although  it  appears  to  mark 
the  complete  triumph  of  Christianity,  in  reality  testifies  to  a  sur- 
render to  the  power  of  Greek  speculation.  The  speculative 
movement,  however,  attained  its  full  strength  only  with  the  aid 
of  Neo-Platonism,  which  soon  began  to  pour  into  Christianity 
in  torrents. 

(y3)   THE  INFLUENCE  OF  NEO-PLATONISM.     GREGORY  OF 

NYSSA 

Even  the  Christian  thinkers  were  unable  to  avoid  the  Intel 
lectual  transformation  effected  by  Plotinus;  his  view  of  the 
world  presented  far  too  much  of  what  they  themselves  de- 
manded for  them  not  to  be  irresistibly  attracted  by  it.  Here  for 
the  first  time  the  whole  of  reality,  from  its  innermost  ground 
to  its  remotest  articulation,  was  made  spiritually  living,  every- 


2oo  CHRISTIANITY 

thing  fixed  and  rigid  was  dissolved  and  merged  into  a  single  life 
stream;  at  the  same  time  human  effort  was  lifted  securely  above 
immediate  existence,  and  the  sensuous  transmuted  into  a  sem- 
blance of  an  invisible  order.  This  movement  irresistibly 
swallowed  up  whatever  in  Christianity  tended  toward  specu- 
lation; it  also  lent  to  Christian  thinking  a  flexibility  and  versa- 
tility without  which  the  harmonising  of  faith  and  knowledge 
necessary  to  the  construction  of  an  ecclesiastical  system  of 
thought  would  hardly  have  succeeded  so  soon.  Meanwhile,  the 
speculative  minds  by  no  means  forgot  the  uniqueness  of  Chris- 
tianity; only  the  appreciation  of  it  was  left  to  the  individual  life 
of  the  soul,  and  not  carried  forth  into  the  battle  going  on  in  the 
realm  of  thought.  But  even  if  the  Christian  element  as  a  rule 
followed  rather  than  led,  it  introduced  into  the  whole  a  new 
tone,  the  tone  of  a  softer,  more  intimate  feeling;  the  whole  re- 
mained a  mixture,  yet  this  assumed  decidedly  different  forms 
with  different  individuals.  With  the  intrusion  of  Neo-Platonism 
there  begins  for  Christian  philosophy  a  new  epoch,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  previous  predominance  of  Platonism  and  Stoi- 
cism: not  until  the  culminating  point  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
reached  was  this  new  mode  of  thought  forced  to  yield  to 
Aristotelianism,  yet  to  an  Aristotelianism  which  it  itself  had 
considerably  altered.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  our  purpose  to 
recall  as  a  representative  of  this  earlier  time  a  man  who  never- 
theless presents  an  individual  type  of  life,  namely  Gregory  of 
Nyssa. 

Gregory  of  Nyssa  belongs  to  the  fathers  of  orthodoxy,  and  at 
a  later  time  was  celebrated  as  "the  father  of  the  Fathers,"  owing 
to  his  services  on  behalf  of  the  dogma  of  the  trinity.  But  sin- 
cere as  his  orthodoxy  is,  it  is  upborne  and  pervaded  by  a  mystical 
speculative  tendency,  and  appears  less  as  the  animating  spirit 
than  as  the  framework  of  his  religious  life.  In  his  doctrine  of 
God  the  perfect  personality  retreats  behind  the  absolute  being, 
and  the  desire  for  fellowship  with  difficulty  overmasters  the 
striving  for  complete  absorption  in  the  eternal  unity.  At  times 
the  different  lines  of  thought  are  fused  in  the  same  conception; 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  201 

then  the  Neo-Platonic  element  easily  predominates  over  the 
Christian.  In  the  expression  "seeing"  God,  Gregory  is  think- 
ing not  so  much  in  the  early  Christian  fashion  of  the  nearness  of 
person  to  person  as  he  is  of  the  mystical  union  with  underived 
being;  and  the  name  Father,  applied  to  God,  indicates  in  his 
mind  not  only  the  affection  of  loving  care,  but  still  more  the 
derivation  of  our  being  from  Him  as  well  as  our  dependence 
upon  His  nature;  accordingly,  rather  the  metaphysical  than  the 
ethical  relationship.  The  connection  of  Gregory's  theology 
with  philosophical  speculation  is  conspicuously  shown  in  his 
favourite  conception  of  the  infinitude  of  the  Supreme  Being. 
Such  infinitude  transcends  not  only  all  limits,  but  also  all  intel- 
lectual comprehension;  any  particular  attributes  here  become 
inapplicable;  true,  the  thinker  seeks  earnestly  for  names  by 
which  to  designate  the  transcendent  Being,  but  he  quickly  con- 
vinces himself  of  the  inappropriateness  of  all  human  expressions. 
Hence,  he  longs  impatiently  for  wings  with  which  to  rise  above 
the  visible  and  the  changeable  to  abiding  nature,  to  unchange- 
able, self-dependent  power.  In  this  he  would  fain  lose  himself 
and  by  absorption  in  the  true  light  become  himself  like  the 
light. 

With  this  negation  of  all  attributes,  the  divine  threatens  to 
disappear  for  us  into  complete  darkness,  while  our  world  sinks 
to  the  level  of  unessential  appearance.  Yet  with  Gregory  this 
danger  is  counteracted  by  an  opposing  tendency:  a  union  of 
Christian  conviction  and  the  Greek  sense  for  beauty  causes  him 
to  recognise  in  the  world  an  important  content,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  make  more  living  the  picture  of  the  divine  nature,  whose 
glory  the  world  reflects. 

The  idea  of  the  beautiful  was  wrought  out  in  Gregory's  mind 
not  only  through  the  mediation  of  Plotinus,  but  also  direct  from 
Plato,  and  hence  possesses  much  warmth  and  fresh  vividness. 
He  finds  beauty  poured  forth  throughout  the  whole  world; 
order  and  harmony  unite  all  its  diversity;  everywhere  there  is 
fixed  proportion;  even  human  conduct  ought  to  aim  at  the  right 
mean.  The  essence  of  the  beautiful,  however,  is  the  good,  and 


202  CHRISTIANITY 

the  supreme  beauty  is  purity  of  heart.  In  our  rational  nature  we 
bear  an  image  of  the  Divine  Being;  although  sin  has  obscured  it, 
by  the  putting  aside  of  all  evil  it  can  be  restored,  and  then  it  will 
shine  forth  in  perfect  purity  and  beauty,  and  lead  man  to  the 
divine  prototype.  To  this  extent,  all  knowledge  of  God  de- 
pends upon  the  moral  attitude.  "He  who  purifies  his  heart 
from  all  wickedness  and  all  violence,  sees  in  its  own  beauty  the 
image  of  the  divine  nature."  "Hence,  blest  is  he  who  is  pure  of 
heart,  since,  contemplating  his  own  purity,  he  looks  upon  a 
likeness  of  the  original."  The  transcendent  majesty  of  God  we 
cannot  fathom,  but  the  measure  of  the  knowledge  of  God  is  in 
us:  "Purity  and  repose  of  soul  (aTraSem)  and  the  putting  away 
of  all  evil — that  is  divinity.  If  it  be  in  thee,  then  God  dwells  in 
thee  wholly." 

But  although  such  an  indwelling  of  the  Divine  lends  to  our 
being  a  higher  worth  and  to  our  life  a  more  vivid  content,  the 
tendency  is  always  above  and  beyond  immediate  existence;  with 
all  its  resources  the  world  stirs  in  us  only  a  longing  for  higher 
forms  of  life;  it  ought  never  itself  to  absorb  us.  Thus  life  as- 
sumes the  character  of  a  yearning  that  soars  above  everything 
the  world  has  to  offer.  "We  ought  not  to  wonder  at  the  beauty 
of  the  vaulted  sky,  nor  at  the  rays  of  light,  nor  at  any  other  form 
of  visible  beauty,  but  let  ourselves  be  led  by  the  beauty  dis- 
cerned in  all  these  to  a  longing  for  the  beauty  whose  glory  the 
heavens  declare." 

Thus  the  deepest  propensity  of  the  man  is  to  depreciate  the 
actual  world  we  live  in,  and  to  destroy  our  pleasure  in  it.  A 
pessimism  develops  whose  intensity  of  feeling  frequently  recalls 
modern  tendencies.  Gregory  vividly  portrays  the  manifold  suf- 
fering and  evils  of  life,  the  prevalence  of  hatred  and  arrogance, 
of  grief  and  unrest,  the  power  of  the  passions,  whose  whole  chain 
is  set  in  motion  through  a  single  link.  The  capacities  of  the  soul 
are  not  here  trained  to  distinguish  genuine  from  spurious  beauty. 
However,  all  particular  evils  and  wrongs  pale  before  the  thought 
of  the  nothingness  and  perishableness  of  the  whole  earthly  exis- 
tence. Everything  here  is  inconstant  and  fleeting.  The  flowers 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  303 

blossom  afresh  each  spring,  but  man  is  vouchsafed  but  one 
youth,  and  then  declines  toward  the  winter  of  old  age.  The 
outward  fortunes  of  life  are  various,  and  the  throng  calls  many  a 
one  happy;  but  for  a  profounder  vision  all  such  differences  dis- 
appear; measured  by  the  highest  standard  no  one  career  has  the 
advantage  over  another.  For,  at  bottom,  all  things  earthly  are 
vain:  who  can  be  happy  where  everything  swiftly  vanishes,  and 
we  have  the  graves  of  our  fathers  ever  before  our  eyes  ?  There 
may  be  men  who  do  not  feel  such  sorrow,  and  find  their  satis- 
faction in  sensuous  pleasures;  but  with  their  animal  obtuseness 
they  are  really  more  miserable  than  the  others;  not  to  feel  evils 
is  the  greatest  of  all  evils.  Jesus  said,  "Blessed  are  they  that 
mourn."  But  it  was  not  his  intention  to  glorify  sorrow  as  such, 
but  rather  the  knowledge  of  goodness  which  suffering  always 
brings  with  it,  since  the  good  itself  ever  escapes  us. 

Still,  all  the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  feeling  here  manifest 
cannot  disguise  the  fact  that  the  thinker  is  dominated  by  an  on- 
tological  rather  than  an  ethical  aim.  It  is  not  the  longing  for 
more  love  or  more  justice,  but  for  more  of  the  essential  and  the 
eternal,  that  impels  Gregory  to  rise  above  the  sensuous  world  to 
God.  That  results  in  a  peculiarly  harsh  rupture.  For,  if  the 
invisible  order  alone  possesses  genuine  being,  all  else  is  mere 
appearance;  thus  condemned,  everything  sensuous  must  be  put 
away,  and  everything  that  entangles  us  in  this  worthless  life 
given  up.  Among  the  things  wrhich  the  truly  pious  man  must 
put  behind  him  belongs  also  "busying  oneself  with  the  sciences 
and  arts,  and  with  whatever  in  customs  and  laws  can  suitably 
be  dispensed  with."  Following  this  train  of  thought — elsewhere 
Gregory  is  more  lenient — marriage  is  regarded  as  the  beginning 
and  the  root  of  the  zeal  for  useless  things.  He  who,  like  the 
good  helmsman,  means  to  steer  his  course  by  the  stars,  which 
never  set,  should  so  shape  his  existence  that  it  is  ever  poised  in 
the  middle  between  life  and  death,  and  should  never  give  him- 
self with  his  whole  strength  to  life. 

Corresponding  to  this  detachment  from  the  world,  there  is 
an  absorption  in  the  inner  life  of  the  heart  and  mind.  Here 


264  CHRISTIANITY 

Gregory  feels  himself  immediately  sure  of  union  with  God,  and 
from  this  point  the  soul  pours  itself  out  even  into  the  surround- 
ing world  and  into  nature.  He  enters  into  an  interchange  of 
soul  life  with  nature,  such  as  was  scarcely  known  to  earlier 
times;  he  ignores  the  relation  of  nature  to  man  as  manifested  in 
the  ancient  feeling  for  nature,  and  perceives  her  power  particu- 
larly in  the  quiet  murmur  of  the  forest  and  in  the  profound  soli- 
tude of  the  desert.  Accordingly,  along  with  his  brother  Basil, 
he  assumes  an  important  place  in  the  historical  development  of 
the  feeling  for  nature,  as  has  recently  been  pointed  out  in  par- 
ticular by  A.  Biese. 

Hence,  even  as  a  whole,  Gregory's  view  of  life  merits  more 
consideration  than  it  customarily  receives.  It  is  the  purest 
philosophical  expression  we  have  of  that  withdrawal  of  the 
Christian  life  from  the  world  which  spread  still  more  widely 
after  the  outward  triumph  of  Christianity. 

Christianity  was  less  and  less  able  to  adhere  to  the  original 
idea  of  providing  a  refuge  for  pious  feeling  and  moral  life  in  the 
midst  of  a  wicked  world ;  the  influx  of  ever  larger  and  more  un- 
regenerate  masses  had  made  necessary  continual  concessions. 
Finally,  the  outward  triumph,  with  the  consequent  inundation 
by  those  masses,  decided  the  inner  downfall.  If  serious  minds, 
really  concerned  for  the  eternal  life,  were  not  wholly  to  despair, 
it  was  necessary  to  find  special  means  of  relief.  The  Orient  and 
the  Occident  went  in  different  directions :  the  latter  sought  com- 
pensation in  an  exaltation  of  the  Church,  as  an  objective  order, 
above  the  losses  sustained  by  individuals;  the  former  sought  it 
in  the  withdrawing  of  individuals  to  a  solitary  life  devoted  in 
singleness  of  purpose  and  with  intense  fervour  to  the  service  of 
God.  The  irresistible  force  with  which  such  a  life  attracted  his 
contemporaries  was  portrayed  by  Gregory  with  keen  satis- 
faction, while  the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  feeling  produced 
by  self-communion  practised  under  the  combined  influence 
of  Greek  and  Christian  tendencies  is  nowhere  more  strik- 
ingly exhibited  than  in  himself,  the  philosopher  of  mystic 
yearning. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  205 


(c)  TJie  Formation  of  an  Ecclesiastical  Rule  of  Life 

From  an  early  time  Christianity  manifested  a  strong  tendency 
toward  the  formation  of  a  visible,  organised  church,  a  church 
which  the  individual  should  respect  as  a  sacred  authority,  which 
should  set  apart  holy  men  and  holy  things  from  secular  life, 
which  should  develop  an  impressive  form  of  worship,  and,  in 
particular,  should  rule  over  the  minds  of  believers  through  the 
mystery  of  the  sacraments.  Gradually  this  tendency,  which  at 
the  outset  was  still  undeveloped  and  but  an  aspect  of  a  larger 
movement,  became  the  chief  concern.  Such  a  change  might 
well  appear  to  later  generations  as  a  mere  decline  from  the  fun- 
damental idea  of  the  religion  of  spirit  and  of  truth.  But  who- 
ever considers  the  permanent  needs  of  the  human  heart,  the 
peculiar  conditions  of  that  age,  and  the  peculiar  character  and 
requirements  of  Christianity,  will  not  only  understand  the  his- 
torical necessity  of  the  change,  but  will  no  longer  look  upon  it 
as  a  mere  decline.  The  conception  of  the  Church,  of  a  peculiar 
sphere  of  life  dominated  by  religion,  springs  from  the  innermost 
nature  of  Christianity.  It  was  a  proclamation  to  mankind  that 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand;  it  was  the  Evangel  of  the 
kingdom.  The  hopes  for  the  near  future  had  not  been  fulfilled; 
Christianity  must  reconcile  itself  to  this  world  of  unreason  for 
a  longer  period;  in  consequence,  it  must  reckon  with  an  inev- 
itable decline  of  the  first  enthusiasm.  But  unless  it  wished  to 
accommodate  itself  wholly  to  the  world,  and  so  surrender  its 
peculiar  character,  it  was  forced  to  mark  out  and  develop  an 
individual  sphere  of  life,  opposed  to  the  world,  where  its  ideals 
and  hopes  might  take  refuge.  The  conviction,  so  essential  to 
Christianity,  of  the  birth  of  a  new  world,  of  the  creation  of  a 
new  life  and  being  out  of  the  new  relation  to  God,  was  repre- 
sented in  the  field  of  history  by  the  Church.  True,  the  precise 
shape  which  matters  assumed  did  not  fully  coincide  with  this 
general  ideal;  a  community  with  more  freedom,  more  inde- 
pendence, more  inner  life,  would  have  better  harmonised  with 


206  CHRISTIANITY 

it.  But  it  was  the  peculiar  conditions  of  the  time  which  deter- 
mined a  development  in  the  opposite  direction.  A  small  hand- 
ful of  men  struggling  against  the  disproportionate  power  of  the 
world  demands  something  more  than  mere  toleration;  it  pro- 
claims itself  as  the  nucleus  of  a  new  world,  as  the  people  di- 
vinely called  to  rule.  And  will  not  this  small  company  be  com- 
pelled at  first  to  hold  firmly  together,  and  to  oppose  to  all  in- 
cipient divisions  the  authority  of  the  body  as  a  whole  ?  Will  not 
the  tangible  and  visible  elements  of  the  organisation  make 
stronger  and  stronger  appeal  in  proportion  as  the  enthusiastic 
uplift  of  the  first  beginnings  dies  down?  Above  all,  it  was  in 
the  overcoming  of  threatened  schisms  that  the  Church  found  its 
unity,  and  at  the  same  time  saved  Christianity  from  being  di- 
vided into  sects.  Moreover,  the  growing  influence  of  the  Latins 
led  to  the  further  development  of  organisation  and  to  the  strength- 
ening of  the  sensuous  elements  of  the  religious  life.  The  later 
Greek  tendency  to  refine  the  sensuous  is  foreign  to  the  Latin 
character;  the  latter,  on  the  contrary,  sees  in  the  sensuous  an 
essential  constituent  of  reality.  Hand  in  hand  with  this  view 
goes  a  pre-eminent  capacity  for  organisation,  and  great  shrewd- 
ness and  skill  in  the  treatment  of  practical  questions.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  speculative  sense  of  the  Latins  is  little  developed; 
and,  in  particular,  there  is  lacking  the  idea  of  an  inner  compul- 
sion of  truth,  such  as  the  ancient  Greek  world  contributed  to 
the  Christian,  an  idea  which  increases  the  inner  independence 
of  individuals,  and  prevents  any  rigid  restraint  of  their  ppwers. 
Finally,  a  critical  review  of  the  above  development  should 
also  consider  the  general  state  of  things  outside  of  Christianity. 
The  religious  longing  which,  since  the  close  of  the  second  cen- 
tury, swept  all  intellectual  life  before  it,  bears  throughout,  de- 
spite all  the  subjective  eagerness  for  happiness,  the  stamp  of  an 
enfeebled  and  languid  age.  The  desire  of  the  time  is  not  for 
activity,  but  rest;  not  for  responsibility,  but  for  release  from 
care;  not  for  the  dangers  of  freedom,  but  for  the  security  of  sub- 
jection; not  for  rational  comprehension,  but  for  the  magical 
fascination  of  the  mysterious  and  the  incomprehensible;  not  for 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  207 

the  elevation  to  a  purely  spiritual  reverence  for  God,  but  for  an 
actual  presence  of  the  higher  world,  as  impressive  as  possible, 
and  dominating  the  mind  by  its  sensuous  magnificence.  In  an 
age  characterised  by  such  a  mood,  only  the  development  which 
actually  took  place  could  have  made  Christianity  victorious. 
But  the  recognition  of  this  historical  necessity  is  tantamount  to 
a  most  decisive  rejection  of  the  claim  that  Christianity  must 
permanently  keep  to  this  form:  "the  characteristics  which,  at 
that  time,  gave  Christianity  the  victory,  do  not  vouch  for  the 
permanence  of  the  victory  in  history"  (Harnack). 

Thus  the  visible  Church  steadily  gained  in  power  and  author- 
ity; thus  it  steadily  transformed  moral  duty  into  the  fulfilment 
of  certain  requirements,  and  brought  up  its  members  to  com- 
plete subordination  and  to  willing  obedience.  The  less  suffi- 
cient the  individuals  were  in  themselves,  the  more  the  Church 
grew  in  unapproachable  majesty,  the  more  fixed  became  the 
idea  of  its  sanctity,  the  more  it  had  to  minister  to  human  im- 
perfection by  peculiar  means  of  grace.  In  fact,  even  those 
writers  who  combat  the  ecclesiastical  idea  with  special  energy, 
make  loud  complaint  of  the  insufficiency  of  the  individual,  of 
the  weakness  of  his  faith,  and  of  the  indifference  of  his  love. 
With  the  increase  of  this  tendency  the  Church  appears  more 
and  more  as  a  divine  institution,  not  as  a  human  organisation; 
the  honour  shown  it  is  manifested  toward  God,  and  any  injury 
done  it  is  done  to  Him.  Only  through  the  Church,  the 
mother  of  Christians,  is  there  a  way  to  the  Divine  Father :  "  No 
one  can  have  God  as  his  Father,  except  he  have  the  Church  as 
his  mother"  (Cyprian).  The  individual  owes  the  Church  obe- 
dience and  pious  reverence;  holding  aloof  from  it  is  looked  upon 
as  malevolent  contempt  or  as  presumptuous  obstinacy.  That 
stamps  schism  and  heresy  as  the  worst  of  wanton  crimes,  from 
whose  consequences  not  even  martyrdom  can  afford  relief. 
For  all  other  offences  affect  individuals,  while  this  affects  the 
whole  community. 

Simple  and,  particularly  for  the  Latins,  convincing  as  this 
line  of  thought  was,  very  serious  perplexities  arose  from  the  fact 


ao8  CHRISTIANITY 

that  some — precisely  on  account  of  the  esteem  in  which  the 
Church  was  held — insisted  upon  a  certain  moral  excellence  in  the 
incumbents  of  ecclesiastical  benefices,  and  connected  the  validity 
of  their  official  acts  with  the  possession  of  those  qualities,  while 
others  rejected  this  demand  as  dangerous  to  the  prestige  of  the 
Church:  in  the  former  case  the  moral  side  retained  its  inde- 
pendence, in  the  latter  it  was  subordinated  to  ecclesiastical 
and  religious  needs.  The  latter  tendency  triumphed;  the 
demand  for  a  strong  organisation  and  for  the  certainty  of 
aid  overcame  all  moral  scruples.  At  the  same  time,  the  Church 
was  gradually  transformed  from  a  fellowship  of  holy  men  into 
a  legal  institution  resting  upon  mystic  and  even  magical  foun- 
dations. 

The  exaltation  of  the  Church  was  accompanied  by  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  priesthood.  The  priests,  particularly  the  bishops, 
became  the  accredited  intermediaries  between  God  and  the  con- 
gregation; they  became  the  dispensers  of  the  divine  grace. 
Above  all,  the  increasing  power  of  the  idea  of  sacrifice  operated 
to  exalt  their  position.  From  an  early  time  Christianity  had 
been  unable  to  do  without  the  idea  of  sacrifice;  but  at  first  the 
opposition  to  heathen  sacrifices  predominated.  An  ethical  re- 
ligion saw  the  true  sacrifice  in  the  offering  up  of  the  heart.  "To 
foster  innocence  and  justice,  to  keep  free  from  all  deceit,  to  res- 
cue men  from  danger — these  are  our  sacrifices,  these  are  holy  in 
the  sight  of  God.  With  us  the  more  just  one  is,  the  more  pious 
is  he."  So  thought  Minucius  Felix,  who  glorified  the  reliance 
upon  simple  morality,  the  relinquishing  of  all  peculiar  religious 
acts,  as  the  distinguishing  merit  of  Christianity.  Even  Lactan- 
tius  believes,  "That  is  the  true  worship  in  which  the  spirit  of  the 
worshipper  offers  itself  to  God  as  a  spotless  sacrifice."  Still,  in 
the  meantime,  the  idea  of  sacrifice  had  assumed  a  magical  char- 
acter. The  more  oppressive  became  the  fear  of  a  God  who 
judged  and  punished,  and  the  more  acutely  conscious  of  his  own 
unworthiness  the  individual  became,  the  more  vehement  was 
the  longing  for  extraordinary  means  of  help  and  expiation. 
Here  appears  "  in  the  foreground  the  atoning  work  of  Christ. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  209 

It  is  not  so  much  the  incarnation — that  is  a  presupposition — as 
it  is  the  death  of  Christ  which  is  viewed  as  the  punctum  saliens; 
and  even  thus  early  it  is  treated  from  every  conceivable  stand- 
point, as  propitiatory  sacrifice,  as  reconciliation,  as  purchase 
price,  as  vicarious  suffering  of  death  upon  the  cross"  (Harnack). 
This  change  operated  to  exalt  the  priesthood  particularly  after 
the  idea  established  itself  through  Cyprian  that  the  priests,  in 
offering  sacrifice,  repeat  the  sacrifice  of  Christ.  Hence,  the  need 
for  authority  and  the  need  for  magic  coincided;  the  "priest  of 
God"  was  exalted  far  above  the  congregation,  and  invested  with 
superhuman  sanctity. 

In  the  same  direction  tended  the  development  of  a  double 
morality;  originating  at  the  very  beginning  of  Christianity,  this 
gradually  embodied  itself  in  a  fixed  order  of  things.  It  offered 
the  opportunity  of  incorporating  into  Christianity  the  ideal  of 
asceticism — something  which  possessed  an  irresistible  attrac- 
tion for  the  age — without  implying  that  the  ordinary  conditions  of 
life  must  be  given  up.  If,  in  other  words,  there  is  the  possibility 
of  exceeding  the  imposed  obligations,  we  have  surplus  merit;  and 
this  excess  can  be  applied  to  the  shortage  of  others.  So  it  was 
argued  respecting  the  martyrs  who  witnessed  to  the  faith  with 
their  blood,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  more  because  the  majority  of 
the  congregation  did  not  follow  them  upon  the  path  of  thorns; 
so  people  thought  also  of  those  who,  by  painful  abstention  from 
worldly  goods  and  pleasures,  such  as  fasting,  poverty,  and  cel- 
ibacy, made  sacrifices  to  God.  To  such  meritorious  works  is 
ascribed  the  power  of  blotting  out  sins,  at  least  venial  sins, 
which,  following  the  Stoic  example,  were  clearly  distinguished 
as  pardonable  offences  (peccata  venialia)  from  deadly  sins.  In 
all  this  we  see  a  valuation  of  performance  as  such,  and  a  grada- 
tion of  worth  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  the  work;  at 
the  same  time,  an  attempt  to  counterpoise  guilt  and  merit. 
Thus  there  springs  up  a  system  of  compensations;  morals  as- 
sume more  and  more  the  character  of  a  legal  order.  The  ad- 
ministrators of  this  order  are  the  priests.  While  the  conception 
of  a  universal  priesthood  is  not  completely  nullified  by  such  a 


210  CHRISTIANITY 

development,  so  far  as  practical  life  and  immediate  feeling  are 
concerned  its  influence  is  much  restricted. 

The  result  was  that,  along  with  the  visible  strengthening  of 
organisation  and  increase  of  pomp,  there  was  a  marked  external- 
isation  and  coarsening  of  life,  an  enormous  influx  of  alien  ele- 
ments, and  the  danger  of  a  sudden  decline  of  Christianity.  To 
be  sure,  counteracting  influences  were  not  wanting.  The  power 
and  inwardness  of  Christian  morality  were  not  extinguished; 
the  thought  of  the  speedy  coming  of  the  Day  of  Judgment  kept 
men's  minds  on  the  alert;  the  conflict  with  the  heathen  world, 
a  world  which,  after  the  middle  of  the  third  century,  began  to 
exert  its  full  power  against  Christianity,  preserved  them  from 
falling  into  indolent  routine.  Moreover,  the  restriction  of  indi- 
vidual freedom  was  not  oppressively  felt,  so  long  as  resistance 
to  the  superior  might  of  the  world  made  united  action  necessary, 
and  so  long  as  it  was  only  their  personal  choice  which  bound 
individuals  to  the  Church.  But  a  change  inevitably  came  with 
the  elevation  of  Christianity  to  the  official  religion  of  the  state; 
for  whatever  was  questionable  in  the  transformation  of  Chris- 
tianity into  a  visible  organisation  depending  mainly  upon  magi- 
cal rites  now  irresistibly  produced  its  full  effects.  With  all  the 
perfection  of  system,  the  splendour  of  ritual,  the  zeal  for  works, 
there  was  lacking  a  substantial  inner  life,  a  spiritual  depth. 
Simple  morality  was  neglected  in  favour  of  religion,  while  re- 
ligion itself  was  deeply  impregnated  with  the  passions  and  in- 
terests and  even  the  sensuous  conceptions  of  mere  humanity;  it 
possessed  little  inspiration,  little  inwardly  transforming  power. 
Christianity  was  in  imminent  danger  of  suffering  inner  destruc- 
tion while  outwardly  triumphant;  if  ever  in  its  history  it  needed 
a  great  and  original  mind,  it  needed  such  now — a  mind  in  touch 
with  the  age  and  sharing  its  needs,  but  also  one  which  would 
raise  the  age  above  itself  and  guide  it  to  eternal  truth,  so  far  as 
this  was  anywise  attainable.  Such  a  mind  appeared  in  Augus- 
tine. Passing  through  the  profoundest  personal  struggles,  and 
dedicating  to  the  Church  the  unremitting  toil  of  a  lifetime,  he 
gave  depth  and  power  to  the  religious  longing  of  his  time,  and 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  211 

infused  into  the  ecclesiastical  system  a  spiritual  content.  So, 
too,  he  brought  to  its  highest  philosophical  expression  the  early 
Christian  view  of  life. 

H.  AUGUSTINE 

(a)  General  Characteristics 

Augustine  (354-430)  is  the  one  great  philosopher  sprung  from 
the  soil  of  Christianity  proper.  He  unites  within  himself  all 
the  influences  of  the  past  and  all  the  fresh  impulses  of  his  own 
age,  and  out  of  them  he  creates  something  which  is  new  and 
greater.  Rooted  in  a  Latin  environment,  he  is  still  subject  to 
powerful  Hellenic  and  Oriental  influences;  he  combines  early 
Christian  and  Neo-Platonic  elements  in  a  new  way,  with  the 
result  that  the  peculiarity  of  the  former  is  more  carefully  pre- 
served, and,  although  the  form  of  union  is  open  to  attack,  it  has 
dominated  all  the  later  history  of  Christianity.  The  develop- 
ment of  Augustine's  thought  is  in  a  pre-eminent  degree  an  ex- 
pression of  personality,  in  fact,  of  direct  personal  life.  All  his 
work,  indeed,  serves  the  one  purpose  of  the  unfolding  and  en- 
joyment of  his  own  being;  in  all  the  varied  forms  of  activity  the 
ultimate  goal  remains  the  same,  the  well-being  of  the  entire 
nature.  Happiness,  blessedness,  this  it  is  upon  which  the  whole 
thought  and  passionate  longing  of  the  man  are  concentrated — 
happiness,  not  in  the  restricted  sense  of  the  earlier  Latin  Fathers, 
but  as  the  complete  satisfaction  of  the  inner  nature,  as  the 
vivifying  of  all  the  powers,  as  blessedness  extending  to  the  deep- 
est foundations  of  being.  Accordingly,  aspiration  and  effort  here 
absorb  all  else;  they  not  only  accompany  but  permeate  and 
transform  intellectual  activity.  Such  happiness  as  this  ought 
not  to  hover  before  one  as  a  distant  hope;  it  should  become 
a  living  presence  and  complete  possession.  For,  "he  who 'is 
happy  merely  in  hope,  is  not  yet  happy;  in  fact,  he  still  pa- 
tiently awaits  the  happiness  which  he  does  not  yet  possess." 
But  that  we  can  and  must  attain  happiness  Augustine  regards 
as  perfectly  certain;  in  his  mind  this  conviction  needs  no  proof 


212  CHRISTIANITY 

and  admits  of  no  doubt,  rather,  it  affords  the  mightiest  weapon 
for  combating  doubt.  The  longing  for  happiness  overcomes 
all  opposition  and  fuses  into  one  even  the  most  hostile  elements; 
it  is  the  source  of  life,  love,  and  passion  in  all  work,  and  gives  to 
labour  the  strongest  incentives.  Hence,  all  that  Augustine 
undertakes  is  marked  by  passionate  fervour  and  vehement  emo- 
tion. The  religious  longing  of  mankind,  often  the  expression  of 
a  languid  and  ascetic  mood,  is  here  pervaded  by  the  most  pow- 
erful vitality;  even  cognition  rises  to  a  form  of  self-assertion  and 
exaltation  of  being.  This  invasion  of  the  whole  range  of  his 
intellectual  work  by  a  colossal  subjectivity  actuated  by  a  de- 
vouring thirst  for  happiness,  constitutes  at  once  the  greatness 
and  the  source  of  danger  in  Augustine. 

While,  therefore,  Augustine's  view  of  the  world  and  of  life  is 
necessarily  influenced  by  this  peculiarity  of  his  nature,  it  is 
more  particularly  characterised  by  the  fact  that  it  includes  within 
itself  the  sharpest  contrasts,  and  thus  keeps  thought  in  ceaseless 
movement. 

On  the  one  hand,  there  is  the  impulse  to  grasp  all  the  fulness 
of  being  in  one  mighty  effort,  to  concentrate  life  upon  itself,  to 
seize  upon  blessedness  directly  with  the  whole  nature;  in  other 
words,  a  soaring  above  all  forms  and  definite  ideas,  a  total  ab- 
sorption in  pure  feeling.  On  the  other,  there  is  the  desire  to 
compass  and  illuminate  with  thought  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  the  universe,  to  set  forth  likewise  the  inner  world, 
and  to  give  an  account  of  all  activity;  in  other  words,  a  removal 
from  the  immediate  impression,  a  vast  intellectual  structure,  a 
theoretical  intermediation  of  fundamental  conceptions.  From 
the  union  of  both  these  tendencies  springs  a  powerful  movement 
of  religious  speculation,  in  which  feeling  and  thought,  immedi- 
ate and  mediated  life,  are  inseparably  intertwined.  But  this 
antithesis  is  variously  intersected  by  another.  On  one  side 
there  is  a  ceaseless  striving  for  pure  spirituality,  a  transmutation 
of  things  into  thoughts,  the  underived  independence  of  a  tran- 
scendental inner  life;  on  the  other,  a  glowing  sensuousness,  an 
insistence  upon  tangible  data,  upon  the  sure  contact  and  grasp, 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY 

the  pleasurable  tasting  and  enjoyment,  of  things;  and  both  are 
fused  through  the  medium  of  a  grandiose  fantasy  capable  of 
wresting  forms  even  from  the  obscure  depths  of  the  inner  world. 
Consequently,  in  the  same  personality  we  have  not  only  an  un- 
tiring creative  impulse  and  a  turbulent  energy  of  life,  but  re- 
straint due  to  moral  disunion;  for  there  is  also  the  consciousness 
of  helplessness  in  the  presence  of  his  own  problematic  nature, 
a  passionate  longing  for  deliverance  through  supernatural  power, 
and  for  translation  to  a  state  of  rest  and  peace.  The  general 
problem  of  morals  is  here  intensified  by  the  fact  that  Augustine's 
sensuousness  is  not  of  the  naive  but  of  the  subtle  sort,  and 
threatens  to  poison  and  debase  all  effort.  Finally,  Augustine 
exhibits  a  twofold  nature  in  that  he  deeply  and  truly  feels  and 
lives  his  experiences,  and  yet  is  able  to  reflect  upon  them  with 
clearness  and  composure,  as  if  they  were  wholly  objective. 

These  various  tendencies  are  not  brought  together  in  a  com- 
prehensive system  and  there  harmonised,  nor  are  they,  so  to 
say,  adjusted  to  one  another  from  the  outset,  as  with  Aristotle; 
rather,  each  develops  in  isolation,  and  only  in  the  end  is  there 
contact  and  union  with  the  others.  Hence,  we  have  sharp  con- 
trasts, halting  procedure,  working  at  cross  purposes,  and  mani- 
fold conflict  of  opposing  tendencies.  There  result  harsh  con- 
tradictions, not  only  in  small  matters  but  in  great;  continued 
unrest,  crossed  and  recrossed  by  opposing  currents;  but  there 
results  also  a  ceaseless  tension  and  vibration  of  life,  an  ever- 
recurring  inception  of  creative  work,  the  most  active  flux  of  all 
things.  Although  such  a  medley  of  contradictory  elements 
often  seriously  complicates  the  structural  development  of  the 
thought,  it  does  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  a  full  expression  of 
spontaneous  and  intimate  emotion,  the  utterance  of  pure  nat- 
ural tones  of  the  simple  human  sort.  In  other  words,  the  inner 
religious  life  here  attains  a  childlike  simplicity  and  a  fervent 
emotional  expression  such  as  literature  affords  only  at  altitudes 
seldom  reached. 

This  interaction  of  conflicting  tendencies  not  only  increases 
the  difficulty  of  understanding  Augustine's  teachings,  but  also 


214  CHRISTIANITY 

interferes  with  a  just  appreciation  of  the  nature  of  the  man. 
Possessed  of  an  unusual  sensitiveness,  he  is  so  far  carried  away 
by  the  impression  of  the  moment  that  he  lives  in  it  exclusively 
and  is  oblivious  of  all  else.  He  is  thus  led  to  extreme,  fanatical 
assertions,  which  represent  his  convictions,  indeed,  but  not  his 
entire  faith;  for  here  he  condemns  and  rejects  what  yonder  he 
honours  and  loves.  The  churchly  Christian  in  him  at  times 
speaks  of  culture  like  a  narrow-minded  sectarian;  yet  as  a  com- 
prehensive and  profound  thinker  he  also  treats  the  ecclesiastical 
order,  with  its  authority  and  its  faith,  as  a  thing  of  expediency, 
an  institution  established  in  the  interest  of  the  masses  and  of 
human  weakness.  Hence,  it  is  possible  to  set  one  Augustine 
over  against  the  other,  and  so  to  cast  doubt  upon  the  sincerity 
of  both.  Part  of  the  contradictions  disappear,  if  we  take  into 
account  the  inner  development  which  gradually  forced  him 
from  a  universal  and  philosophical  to  a  positive  and  ecclesias- 
tical treatment  of  things;  but  the  most  serious  contradictions 
survive  all  the  changes  of  development,  and  it  would  be  a  de- 
cided mistake  to  attempt  to  force  his  thought,  as  a  whole,  into 
a  system.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  only  necessary  to  press  for- 
ward to  the  living  whole  of  his  personality  in  order  to  find  a  bond 
of  union  underlying  the  manifold  elements,  and  rendering  their 
contradictions  intelligible.  But  this  personality  cannot  be 
brought  within  the  limits  of  formal  logic;  and  the  conflicting 
elements  in  the  man's  nature  necessarily  find  their  way  into  his 
work.  Still,  Augustine  could  never  have  exerted  the  influence 
which  he  did,  had  there  not  been  an  essential  personal  veracity 
back  of  his  rhetorical  utterance.  Quite  enough  that  is  unedify- 
ing  remains,  indeed,  to  be  overcome.  In  the  remarkable  mix- 
ture of  traits  which  are  combined  in  Augustine's  nature,  nobility 
and  justice  are  not  so  strongly  represented  that  they  are  not  at 
times  completely  submerged  by  the  waves  of  passion.  In  par- 
ticular, his  is  not  a  pure,  exalted  nature,  like  that  of  Plato,  for 
example;  even  in  his  loftiest  soaring,  he  cannot  wholly  free 
himself  from  lower  elements;  and  he  seems  unable  to  touch  the 
profoundest  depths  without  also  stirring  up  a  great  deal  of 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  215 

muddy  slime.  This  must  set  a  definite  limit  to  our  appreciation 
of  the  man.  Yet,  however  much  we  may  find  to  criticise,  if  we 
follow  Augustine's  self-revelations  to  their  source,  they  always 
disclose  a  genuinely  human  and  wholly  intelligible  aspiration; 
they  reveal  a  man  of  integrity,  a  powerful  man,  and  one  to  whom 
nothing  human  is  foreign.  And  if,  among  the  saints  of  the 
Church,  there  was  scarcely  another  so  little  saintly,  so  passion- 
ate, so  full  of  weaknesses  and  errors,  there  also  lies  in  his  kin- 
ship with  common  human  nature  something  of  an  atonement, 
and  surely  the  secret  of  his  power  over  the  minds  of  men. 

(b)  The  Soul  of  Life 

Both  the  starting-point  and  an  abiding  characteristic  of  the 
Augustinian  view  of  life  are  to  be  found  in  a  radical  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  natural  world,  particularly  with  the  condition  of 
man.  Scarcely  any  one  has  painted  the  miseries  of  human  ex- 
istence in  harsher  colours  and  with  more  intensity  of  feeling  than 
Augustine.  The  helplessness  of  the  individual  and  the  abuses 
of  social  life,  the  dissensions  and  wars  between  peoples,  the  mis- 
carriages of  justice,  the  unavoidable  entanglement  in  all  the 
cares  of  our  friends,  the  multitude  of  temptations,  the  constant 
hovering  between  fear  and  hope,  the  painful  uncertainty  of  the 
human  lot — all  these  speak  here  with  eloquent  voices;  and  the 
distressing  decadence  of  the  age  adds  an  individual  poignancy 
to  the  sense  of  common  human  misery.  The  recourse  of  the 
philosopher,  to  blunt  his  sensibility  and  master  the  feelings  of 
pain,  appears  to  Augustine  as  morally  inadmissible,  even  if  at 
all  likely  to  be  effectual;  it  would  result,  he  thinks,  in  a  harsh, 
apathy,  a  hardening  of  the  nature,  an  extinction  of  love.  More- 
over, evil  besets  us  not  merely  from  without;  it  dwells  in  our 
own  nature;  in  the  form  of  sensuality  and  pride  it  is  the  motive 
power  of  conduct;  we  may  form  good  resolutions,  but  the  abil- 
ity to  execute  them  is  lacking.  Then,  too,  there  is  the  intellec- 
tual incapacity  of  man,  who  is  overwhelmed  with  doubt  and  us- 
able to  penetrate  to  the  truth.  Amid  such  extremities  and  ob- 


2i6  CHRISTIANITY 

stacles  he  is  threatened  with  complete  despair;  casting  off  the 
burden  of  life  might  seem  to  be  the  only  refuge. 

As  a  fact,  man  behaves  quite  differently.  Amid  all  his  suffer- 
ing he  displays  a  tenacious  clinging  to  life,  a  powerful  impulse 
toward  self-preservation,  an  unconditional  will  to  live  (esse  se 
velle).  Even  the  most  miserable  existence  is  preferred  to  de- 
struction: the  criminal,  condemned  to  death,  clutches  eagerly, 
as  if  it  were  a  priceless  blessing,  the  pitiful  life  which  a  reprieve 
confers  upon  him.  A  similar  desire  for  life  pervades  the  whole 
of  nature;  from  the  monstrous  dragon  to  the  smallest  worm, 
every  creature  defends  his  life  and  exerts  all  his  powers  to  avoid 
destruction.  Would  such  a  universal  fact  be  intelligible,  if  the 
world  of  suffering  and  of  evil  were  the  whole  of  reality,  and  the 
being  which  in  its  first  aspect  is  so  pitiful  were  not  hi  its  essential 
nature  good  and  capable  of  happiness  ? 

These  observations  serve  only  to  confirm  Augustine  in  his 
own  attitude.  He  himself  is  not  oppressed  by  the  suffering  and 
misery;  rather,  the  more  the  latter  are  intensified,  the  more  he 
feels  and  knows  that  in  his  innermost  nature  he  is  superior  to 
them;  in  fact,  it  was  precisely  the  misery  of  immediate  experi- 
ence that  awakened  in  him  the  firm  conviction  that  this  world 
could  not  be  the  whole  world.  Thus,  behind  the  repressed 
physical  life-impulses  appears  a  vital  metaphysical  impulse, 
which  emphatically  forbids  a  renunciation  of  blessedness  and 
the  desire  to  live. 

But  such  a  change,  such  a  new  justification  of  life,  requires 
another  foundation  and  other  relations  than  those  of  the  natural 
world;  only  in  a  transcendental,  perfect  Being,  only  in  God,  can 
the  new  life  find  its  foothold.  The  reality  of  this  Divine  Being 
is  accepted  by  Augustine  as  the  axiom  which  is  the  principal 
assurance  of  the  nature  of  our  own  being;  so  surely  as  man  is 
something  more  than  nature,  so  certainly  is  he  established  in 
God  and  surrounded  by  a  divine  life. 

But  besides  this  assertion  of  an  axiomatic  truth,  there  are  not 
wanting  theoretical  analysis  and  demonstration;  these  progress 
from  merely  colourless  outlines  to  a  perceptible  content  by  pass- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  217 

ing  through  the  stages  of  being,  spirit,  and  personality.  In  the 
first  place,  immediate  being,  characterised  by  hindrance  and 
suffering,  a  realm  of  ceaseless  change  and  unstable  becoming, 
cannot  possibly  be  true  being;  a  true,  genuine,  real  being — the 
cumulation  is  Augustine's  own — can  only  be  an  absolutely  un- 
changeable nature,  an  essence  which,  untouched  by  the  stream 
of  time,  ever  remains  what  it  is.  True  life  can  only  be  eternal 
life.  Real  being,  however,  is  naught  else  but  God;  all  genuine 
life  springs  from  Him,  and  refers  back  to  Him. 

Thus  all  reality  has  as  its  deepest  ground  a  spiritual  Being. 
Simple  reflection  shows  us  that  the  most  certain  point,  to  which 
no  doubt  attaches,  is  the  existence  of  the  soul.  For,  although  we 
may  doubt  everything,  doubt  itself  proves  the  fact  of  thought, 
and  hence,  of  the  soul.  Our  inner  life  is  immediately  present  to 
us;  it  cannot  be  imaginary.  That  we  exist,  and  at  the  same 
time  know  that  we  exist,  and  cherish  our  being  and  our  knowl- 
edge, is  an  incontestable  fact;  the  existence  of  a  material  world, 
on  the  other  hand,  does  not  admit  of  strict  proof.  Thus,  the  in- 
wardness of  the  psychical  life  leads  Augustine  to  the  idea  of  a 
pure  spirituality;  the  source  of  this,  once  again,  is  God,  the 
prototype  of  the  nature  of  man. 

In  spite  of  the  individuality  of  his  argument,  Augustine's  de- 
mand for  pure  spirituality  and  real  eternity  is,  after  all,  Platonic 
in  character.  At  the  same  time,  in  other  respects  he  breaks 
away  from  Platonism  and  opens  up  new  lines  of  thought,  inas- 
much as  the  demand  for  more  power  and  individual  life  leads 
him  to  seek  for  the  essence  of  the  soul  in  volition  rather  than  hi 
knowledge.  Just  as,  in  his  view,  the  life  of  the  soul  is  funda- 
mentally and  chiefly  the  striving  for  well-being  and  self-realisa- 
tion, so  its  completest  expression  is  the  will,  as  that  in  which  life 
attains  unity  and  is  raised  to  full  activity.  In  fact,  it  is  even 
affirmed  that  all  beings  are  nothing  but  will  (nihil  aliud  quam 
voluntaries}-,  " the  will  is  the  comprehensive  principle  of  all  activi- 
ties of  mind"  (Heinzelmann).  This  conviction  became  steadily 
more  pronounced  throughout  Augustine's  life,  and  separated 
him  further  and  further  from  the  intellectualism  of  antiquity. 


ai8  CHRISTIANITY 

Since,  however,  Augustine  retains  the  Greek  method  of  pro- 
ceeding from  the  macrocosm  to  the  microcosm,  or  rather,  of  in- 
terpreting the  microcosm  as  a  miniature  macrocosm,  the  pri- 
macy of  the  will  applies,  in  his  view,  also  to  the  Divine  Being. 
The  trinity — according  to  his  conception  properly  the  inner  life 
of  the  Deity  and  not  merely  the  order  of  His  revelation — appears 
as  a  circle  of  being  (power),  knowledge  (wisdom),  and  will 
(love).  Life,  divided  in  knowledge,  returns  to  itself  in  volition 
and  strengthens  by  deeds  the  unity  of  its  nature.  This  proto- 
typal essence,  according  to  Augustine,  is  reproduced  in  every 
being,  but  particularly  in  the  human  soul. 

Thus,  Augustine's  idea  of  God  brings  about  a  union,  indeed 
a  fusion,  of  speculative  and  religious,  of  Platonic  and  Christian, 
elements.  Pure  real  being  becomes  at  the  same  time  the  ideal 
of  personal  life,  "the  good  acting  upon  the  will  as  all-powerful 
love"  (Harnack).  On  the  one  hand,  God  is  not  a  particular 
somewhat,  existing  along  with  other  things,  but  the  inclusive 
whole  of  true  being,  beyond  which  there  is  no  reality;  to  sepa- 
rate oneself  from  Him  means  to  fall  into  nothingness;  to  unite 
oneself  to  Him  means  to  rise  from  appearance  to  reality.  On 
the  other  hand,  God  is  the  ideal  of  holiness,  justice,  and  good- 
ness— the  perfect  personality  raised  incomparably  above  the 
human  estate.  By  contact  and  reciprocal  influence  both  these 
conceptions  are  modified;  that  of  pure  being  receives  life  and 
warmth,  while  the  conception  of  personality  outgrows  the  hu- 
man type,  as  appears,  indeed,  in  Augustine's  relentless  attacks 
upon  the  "  anthropomorphites,"  who  represent  God  as  having 
human  form  and  human  passions. 

If,  accordingly,  true  being  and  the  highest  good  are  merged 
into  one  in  the  idea  of  God,  and  if  real  and  eternal  life  is  only 
to  be  found  in  God,  then  everything  depends  upon  the  relation 
to  the  Supreme  Being,  and  only  from  this  relation  as  a  starting- 
point  is  there  salvation,  happiness,  and  self-preservation.  It  is, 
therefore,  with  the  profoundest  conviction  that  Augustine  says, 
"If  I  seek  thee,  O  God,  it  is  the  blessed  life  t  seek.  I  will  seek 
thee,  that  my  soul  may  live." 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  219 

Corresponding  to  the  twofold  root  of  the  idea  of  God  is  a 
twofold  way  of  seeking  God.  In  the  one  case  Augustine  fol- 
lows the  Neo-platonic  speculation:  it  is  pure  intuition  which  is 
to  lift  the  whole  man  into  the  world  of  transcendent  essence,  and 
"ecstasy"  is  to  extinguish  all  self-seeking.  Man  here  desires  of 
God  nothing  but  God  Himself;  the  Supreme  Being  is  an  end  in 
Himself,  not  a  means  to  happiness.  But,  even  in  embracing 
mysticism,  Augustine  preserves  his  individuality.  With  intui- 
tion he  unites  in  the  most  intimate  manner,  love;  feeling  is  not 
repressed  but  ennobled;  a  warm,  emotional  life  pours  into  the 
mysticism  and  gives  an  unwonted  intensity  even  to  its  expression. 
No  one  has  done  more  than  Augustine  to  confer  a  distinctive 
character  upon  Christian  mysticism. 

More  characteristic  and  important,  however,  is  the  other  kind 
of  relation  to  God  which  Augustine  develops;  it  is  the  living 
relation  of  the  human  to  the  absolute  personality,  an  ethico- 
religious  fellowship  with  God.  Here,  also,  the  world,  with  its 
bright  diversity,  lies  without,  and  the  whole  soul  yearns  for  a 
share  in  eternal  love;  but  in  this  instance,  there  results  a  far 
richer  content  than  in  the  case  of  mysticism,  and  it  is  not  renun- 
ciation, but  a  strengthening  of  the  purified,  indeed  regenerated, 
life  of  man  that  is  required.  The  state  of  the  individual  soul, 
the  moral  condition  of  the  inner  man,  becomes  the  chief  prob- 
lem of  life  and  the  centre  of  all  activity;  through  intimate  per- 
sonal fellowship  with  God,  the  activity  of  a  human  being  be- 
comes immeasurably  exalted;  there  arises  a  history  of  the  soul, 
and  the  absorbing  interest  of  this  history  forces  everything  else, 
even  the  most  remarkable  and  disturbing  experiences,  into  the 
periphery  of  existence.  Religion  here  exerts  the  most  fruitful 
influence  in  the  direction  of  raising  inner  experience  to  complete 
independence  and  inherent  worth,  and  of  establishing  the  life  of 
the  soul  firmly  within  itself.  The  special  reason  why  religion  is 
here  capable  of  originating  and  effecting  so  much  is  that  it  em- 
braces within  itself  a  complete  and  permanent  antithesis.  For 
now  there  is  definitely  developed  the  inner  dialectic  of  the  basic 
principle  of  Christianity,  namely,  the  reciprocal  action  of  the 


220  CHRISTIANITY 

farthest  possible  separation  from  God  and  the  nearest  possible 
approach  to  God.  Between  God  and  man,  or  the  perfect  and 
the  most  unworthy  being,  the  holy  and  the  sinful,  there  yawns 
an  immeasurable  chasm,  the  consequence  of  guilt;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  by  a  free  act  of  God,  the  separation  is  annulled,  and, 
in  their  innermost  natures,  a  complete  union  of  the  divine  and 
the  human  is  established.  Grave  inner  conflicts,  indeed,  are  not 
all  past,  but  there  now  rises  above  them  a  blessed  peace,  and 
we  may  hear  resounding  through  the  Confessions,  like  a  funda- 
mental tone,  the  single  thought,  "Thou  hast  created  us  for  Thy- 
self, and  our  heart  rests  not  until  it  rests  in  Thee." 

The  movement  thus  begun  propagated  itself  in  a  copious  lit- 
erature— suffice  it  to  recall  Thomas  a  Kempis;  it  found  new- 
ness of  life  in  the  Reformation;  and,  beyond  the  religious  sphere, 
it  possessed  the  significance  of  a  turning  point  for  the  indepen- 
dent development  of  an  emotional  life,  and  was  an  important  step 
toward  the  introduction  of  a  new  world. 

(c)  The  Religious  Form  of  the  Spiritual  World 

Augustine's  incomparable  and  incontestible  greatness  lies  in 
his  disclosure  of  the  mighty  contrast  within  man  himself.  By 
removing  the  source  of  all  truth  and  love  immeasurably  above 
human  unworthiness,  and,  at  the  same  time,  bringing  man  into 
the  closest  intimacy  and  ceaseless  communion  with  it;  by  at 
once  deeply  humiliating  man  and  exalting  him  to  a  supreme 
height,  he  fashioned  a  type  of  religious  emotional  life  indepen- 
dent of  all  particular  confessions,  indeed,  a  type  valid  for  all  hu- 
manity. But,  certain  as  it  is  that  Augustine  attains  truly  classi- 
cal greatness  in  his  grasp  of  the  deep  things  of  life,  when  it  comes 
to  the  determination  of  particulars  he  falls  under  the  influence 
of  a  languid  and  declining  age,  and  is  diverted  into  uncertain 
paths.  Augustine  is  stronger  in  accentuating  an  antithesis  than 
in  solving  it;  hence  he  leaves  the  religious  life  too  much  in  the 
transcendent  Beyond,  instead  of  reuniting  it  with  the  life  of 
every  day,  and  so  utilising  it  for  the  latter' s  elevation.  The  tre- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  221 

mendous  force  with  which  this  man  throws  himself  into  the 
thought  of  the  moment  results  in  his  opposing  so  sharply  the 
divine  and  the  human,  grace  and  works,  that  the  gain  of  one 
side  involves  the  loss  of  the  other.  God  seems  only  the  more 
highly  exalted,  the  deeper  man  is  debased.  To  think  meanly  of 
man,  to  deny  him  all  independence,  all  power  for  good,  and 
every  sort  of  freedom,  thus  becomes  the  accepted  token  of  piety. 
The  sublimity  of  the  divine  is  measured  by  the  remoteness  from 
it  of  the  human.  Can  we  marvel  that,  with  such  a  point  of 
view,  Augustine  is  unable  to  paint  the  depravity,  the  worthless- 
ness,  of  man  in  vivid  enough  colours?  But  let  us  accord  full 
recognition  to  his  service  in  grasping  so  profoundly  and  in  por- 
traying so  powerfully  the  contradictions  in  human  nature,  the 
incapacity  of  man  in  the  presence  of  life's  inevitable  problems, 
the  limits  of  mere  nature,  and  the  indispensableness  of  free 
grace.  By  this  service,  he  rescued  the  best  part  of  Paulinism,  at 
least  for  the  Occident.  But  since,  under  the  influences  of  that 
restless  time,  he  failed  to  carry  through  the  new  conception, 
failed  to  raise  the  new  man  to  fulness  of  power,  and  to  find  in 
freedom  itself  the  highest  manifestation  of  grace,  his  religion  and 
piety  retain  a  one-sidedly  passive  character,  they  do  not  rise  to 
manliness  and  joyousness,  and  are  much  exposed  to  the  danger 
of  morbid  self-torment,  of  an  uncritical,  inactive  piety,  even  of 
a  sensualistic  development  of  life. 

Such  dangers  extend  beyond  the  immediate  condition  of  the 
soul  and  influence  the  life  of  the  community;  hence  the  power 
of  the  man  gives  also  hi  this  instance  a  fatal  force  to  his  errors. 
It  is,  further,  a  peculiar  element  of  Augustine's  greatness  that 
he  seeks  to  imbue  every  form  of  activity  with  religion,  and  will 
not  permit  anything  to  enter  into  the  spiritual  life  which  has 
not  been  elevated  and  consecrated  by  religion.  He  is,  therefore, 
the  first  to  erect  upon  Christian  soil  a  comprehensive  system  of 
religious  culture.  By  it  he  accomplished  a  great  quickening  and 
deepening  of  the  whole  of  existence.  At  the  same  time,  the  per- 
sistent transcendence  of  the  divine  made  this  effort  one-sided 
and  problematic;  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  work  of  civili- 


822  CHRISTIANITY 

sation  is  not  touched;  in  fact,  the  least  dwelling  upon  secular 
matters  is  thought  to  endanger  the  cause  of  religion.  Life  conse- 
quently becomes  seriously  dwarfed  and  narrowed;  there  is 
wanting  any  adequate  counterpoise  to  the  surging  and  seething 
of  vehement  subjectivity.  With  such  detachment  and  over- 
straining, there  is  danger  that  religion  will  be  reduced  to  a  utili- 
tarianism which  ascribes  values  only  to  what  is  useful  for  "the 
soul's  salvation,"  and  therewith,  in  spite  of  Augustine's  resolute 
effort  to  rise  above  human  littleness,  again  makes  man  the  cen- 
tral point.  These  various  dangers,  no  less  than  the  unmis- 
takable greatness  of  Augustine's  achievement,  will  come  out 
still  more  distinctly  when  we  pass  in  review  his  treatment  of  the 
good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful. 

With  the  good,  i.  e.,  the  morally  good,  the  separation  from 
mere  nature  is  insisted  upon  with  peculiar  force.  Morality  con- 
sists in  nothing  but  the  full  and  free  surrender  to  God;  all  good 
acts,  especially  works  of  mercy — here  the  chief  part  of  practical 
morality — appear  as  sacrifices  offered  to  God;  that  only  which  is 
done  out  of  fellowship  with  God  is  truly  good,  or  constitutes  a 
"true"  sacrifice.  He  who  loves  himself,  his  kin,  and  father- 
land on  their  own  account  has  not  the  right  love,  but  only  he 
who  loves  them  on  God's  account,  and  from  God — only  he  who 
loves  God  in  them;  for  he  alone  loves  in  them  what  is  real  and 
good.  "We  love  God  and  our  neighbour  with  the  same  love, 
but  God  on  His  own  account,  ourselves  and  our  neighbour  on 
God's  account." 

But  just  as  God  is  the  sole  end,  so  He  alone  is  the  source  of 
the  power  for  good;  only  He  can  inspire  us  with  genuine  love; 
from  Him  we  have  derived  whatever  right  feeling  we  possess; 
and  whatever  is  regarded  as  our  merit  is  His  gift  (merita  nostra 
dona  ejus).  The  attempt  to  found  the  moral  life  wholly  upon 
the  eternal  love  leads  Augustine  to  stigmatise  all  self-confidence 
on  man's  part,  all  self-reliant  conduct,  even  when  there  is  no  evil 
intention,  as  mistaken,  bad,  and  vicious.  "Whatever  does  not 
spring  from  faith  is  sin."  To  attempt  to  achieve  by  one's  own 
capacities  what  springs  only  from  the  power  and  grace  of  God 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  223 

seems  to  Augustine  nothing  but  over-weening  self-conceit;  in- 
deed, this  self-confidence  of  God's  creatures,  this  presumption 
of  trying  to  accomplish  something  by  means  of  merely  natural 
faculties,  Augustine  regards  as  the  chief  source  of  evil.  Hence, 
he  makes  the  sharpest  distinction  between  an  action  springing 
from  natural  impulses  and  inclinations,  and  conduct  based  upon 
higher  power  and  developed  through  self-denial;  and  here  we 
have  an  elimination  of  the  naturalistic  morality  which  antiquity 
never  wholly  laid  aside.  One  of  the  principal  conceptions  of 
Christianity  thus  receives  a  distant  formulation  and  a  sure 
foundation. 

But,  although  the  giving  of  a  religious  character  to  morals 
resulted  in  a  liberation  from  nature,  serious  dangers  arose  from 
the  direct  and  complete  subordination  to  a  religion  which  leaves 
the  divine  and  the  human  rigidly  opposed  to  each  other.  Con- 
duct, in  relation  to  the  world  and  to  other  men,  loses  all  inde- 
pendent value.  If  in  all  our  relations  we  are  to  love  God  only; 
if  in  our  fellow-men  we  are  to  love,  not  the  human  beings  as 
such,  not  the  father  and  mother,  not  the  friend  and  fellow- 
countryman,  but  only  the  divine  that  is  in  them,  then  it  is  only 
natural  to  break  off  all  connection  with  the  lower  spheres,  and, 
instead  of  seeking  the  divine  through  such  a  mediation,  seek  it 
directly  in  itself.  Complete  indifference  toward  our  surround- 
ings, the  blunting  of  our  feelings  for  our  kin  and  for  humanity, 
would  therefore  seem  to  be  the  proper  worship  and  the  highest 
form  of  sacrifice.  Augustine  himself  did  not  so  intend,  nor  did 
he  so  conduct  himself — that  sufficiently  appears  from  his  relation 
to  his  mother;  but  an  abandonment  of  good  works,  a  divorce  of 
the  worship  of  the  eternal  from  the  love  of  man,  is  none  the  less 
a  consequence  of  his  view.  Phenomena  of  this  sort  had  already 
been  displayed  by  Augustine's  own  age;  and  they  were  again 
displayed  by  monasticism  hi  that  tendency  which  extolled  an 
uninterrupted  contemplation  of  God  as  the  highest  life. 

Likewise,  the  propensity  to  deprive  man  of  all  moral  desert 
is,  in  Augustine's  treatment,  fraught  with  serious  dangers;  it 
threatens,  namely,  to  suppress  human  initiative,  to  transfer 


224  CHRISTIANITY 

moral  decision  to  a  point  above  us,  to  cause  good  to  be  done 
not  by  us  but  to  us.  But  if  the  moral  life  of  man  is  reduced  to 
a  miracle  and  to  grace;  if,  without  any  co-operation  on  his  part, 
it  is  instilled  into  him  from  above,  a  marked  materialising  of 
life  is  almost  inevitable.  Such  a  result,  in  fact,  appears  with 
Augustine  himself  in  his  doctrine  of  the  sacraments;  and  it  in- 
creased in  mediaeval  Christianity. 

Similar  convictions  are  brought  to  light  in  Augustine's  hand- 
ling of  the  problem  of  truth.  His  passionate  longing  for  the  full 
possession  and  enjoyment  of  truth  is  not  satisfied  with  its  mere 
approximation,  such,  e.  g.,  as  the  attainment  of  probabilities. 
For  is  it  possible  to  recognise  something  as  probable  without 
a  knowledge  of  the  truth  ?  If  any  one  finds  a  resemblance  be- 
tween thy  brother  and  thy  father,  and  yet  does  not  know  thy 
father,  he  surely  will  appear  to  thee  foolish.  Particularly  where 
the  fundamental  conditions  of  one's  own  life  are  in  question, 
there  can  be  no  peace  and  contentment  without  a  full  posses- 
sion, a  secure  having  and  holding,  of  the  truth.  But  such  a  de- 
gree of  certainty  is  indispensable  only  in  those  matters  which 
are  necessary  to  salvation,  not  for  everything  which  falls  within 
the  sphere  of  man's  contemplation;  here  doubt  may  enjoy 
so  much  the  freer  scope.  Nowhere  else  does  Augustine  display 
so  strong  a  leaning  toward  religious  utilitarianism.  He  is  inter- 
ested not  so  much  in  the  world  as  in  the  action  of  God  in  the 
world,  and  particularly  upon  ourselves;  God  and  the  soul,  these 
are  the  only  objects  of  which  knowledge  is  needful;  all  knowledge 
becomes  ethico-religious  knowledge,  or  rather  ethico-religious 
conviction,  an  eager  faith  of  the  whole  man.  Instead  of  musing 
upon  the  secrets  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  the  courses  of  the 
stars  and  the  structure  of  animals,  the  Christian  should  be  satis- 
fied devoutly  to  glorify  the  goodness  of  God  as  the  cause  of  all 
heavenly  and  earthly,  all  visible  and  invisible,  things.  Any  fur- 
ther consideration  of  the  diversity  of  the  world,  especially  of  na- 
ture, arouses  a  multitude  of  misgivings.  It  is  superfluous,  since 
it  does  not  increase  our  happiness;  inadmissible,  since  it  con- 
sumes time  required  for  more  important  things;  dangerous  to 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  225 

the  convictions,  since  the  direction  of  thought  toward  the  world 
easily  leads  us  to  look  upon  the  corporeal  as  alone  real;  injurious 
to  the  moral  attitude,  since  it  produces  overweening  self-con- 
ceit. Hence,  we  should  patiently  bear  our  ignorance,  and  sup- 
press all  desire  for  the  investigation  of  superfluous  things — the 
vain  thirst  for  knowledge!  "Man's  wisdom  is  piety." 

The  beautiful,  too,  assumed  a  peculiar  cast  as  incorporated 
into  a  religious  system  of  life.  Here  the  aim  is  the  comprehen- 
sion of  the  greatness  and  glory  of  God  as  revealed  in  His  works, 
in  the  total  structure  of  the  universe.  The  sensuous  charm  of 
things  accordingly  retreats  into  the  background,  likewise  the 
absorption  in  a  concrete  object.  The  main  thing  now  is  the 
ascent  from  the  diversity  of  the  world  to  its  all-dominating  unity, 
from  the  visible  phenomenon  to  its  invisible  ground,  from  the 
transitory  individual  things  to  their  immutable  essence.  The 
joy  of  the  ancient  Greek  in  the  beauty  of  the  world  once  more 
flashes  forth:  proportion,  type,  order  (modus,  species,  or  do) 
dominate  and  pervade  all  being,  spiritual  no  less  than  material; 
the  more  anything  shares  in  these,  the  better  it  is;  and  there  is 
nothing  well-ordered  which  is  not  beautiful.  One  of  the  chief 
points  in  the  Augustinian  view  is  that  all  the  diversity  of  being 
and  of  life  unites  to  form  the  harmony  of  the  universe;  even  the 
moral  world  we  shall  find  falls  under  the  sway  of  this  aesthetic 
conception,  and  is  described  as  a  work  of  art.  For  Augustine, 
also,  the  idea  of  the  beautiful  is  something  intermediate  between 
the  pure  inward  thought  and  the  visible  existence;  the  influence 
of  this  conception  is  displayed  especially  by  his  first  philosoph- 
ical treatises  after  his  conversion.  But  he  is  always  compelled 
to  pass  from  the  contemplation  of  beauty  to  the  thought  of  its 
final  ground,  to  the  vivid  realisation  of  eternal  power  and  good- 
ness. Even  here  the  thought  of  religious  utility,  of  the  salvation 
of  the  soul,  is  dominant;  only  as  a  means  to  that  end  does  Au- 
gust:jie's  sterner  mood  permit  any  occupation  with  the  beauti- 
ful. Thus,  we  should  not  "uselessly  and  in  vain,"  not  with 
"idle  and  passing  curiosity,"  view  "the  beauty  of  the  canopy  of 
heaven,  the  order  of  the  stars,  the  splendour  of  the  light,  the 


226  CHRISTIANITY 

alternation  of  day  and  night,  the  monthly  revolutions  of  the 
moon,  the  seasons  corresponding  to  the  four  elements,  the  power 
of  the  seed  to  bring  forth  form  and  fixed  relations" — but  in 
order  to  ascend  from  such  transitory  phenomena  to  immutable 
and  eternal  truth,  to  God. 

Accordingly,  all  relations  of  form  have  value  for  Augustine 
only  in  so  far  as  they  conduct  us  to  the  regulating  thought  of 
God.  Moreover,  in  its  preoccupation  with  nature,  the  work  of 
God,  his  estimate  of  beauty  overlooks,  indeed  rejects,  art,  the 
work  of  man.  With  a  meaning  similar  to  Plato's,  but  in  still 
more  vehement  language,  he  shows  how  art,  particularly  dra- 
matic art,  arouses  in  man  conflicting  emotions,  and  allows  him  in 
some  marvellous  manner  to  extract  pleasure  from  a  painful  ex- 
citement of  the  feelings.  Furthermore,  an  aesthetic  cast  of  life  is 
precluded  by  Augustine's  violent  dislike  of  the  formal  culture 
which  dominated  the  closing  period  of  antiquity.  He  ridiculed 
stirring  up  the  emotions  over  distant  and  alien  things,  such  as 
the  fate  of  Dido,  as  the  customary  literary  training  required;  he 
flew  into  a  passion  over  scholars  who,  in  the  bitterness  of  their 
strife  over  the  pronunciation  of  the  word  "man"  (homo},  forgot 
what  man  owes  to  his  fellow-men.  But  with  all  his  professed 
hostility  to  formal  culture,  Augustine  remains  a  master  of  ex- 
position, a  supreme  artist  in  the  use  of  words;  above  all,  his 
diction  possesses  in  the  power  and  delicacy  of  its  pervading 
emotional  tone  an  enchanting  musical  sonorousness;  in  the 
hands  of  no  one  else  has  the  Latin  tongue  become  so  completely 
the  receptacle  of  purely  inward  life. 

Thus  arises  a  thoroughly  distinctive  system  of  life,  entirely 
dominated,  even  in  its  several  parts,  by  religion,  and  supplying 
the  basis  of  the  culture  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  elements  of  its 
greatness  no  less  than  its  peculiar  dangers  are  plainly  visible. 
Life  can  here  withdraw  to  a  point  where  it  is  protected  from  any 
entanglement  in  the  work  of  the  world,  and  is  sure  of  relation- 
ship with  the  eternal  verities;  on  the  contrary,  civilisation  loses 
all  independent  value.  Practical,  scientific,  and  artistic  activity 
is  here  unable  to  keep  man  within  its  sphere;  he  is  impelled  be- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  227 

yond  it  to  religion;  he  longs  to  reach  with  all  possible  speed  the 
point  where  arduous  labour  is  exchanged  for  an  adoration  of 
eternal  love  and  omnipotence.  To  find  in  this  a  secure  repose, 
beyond  the  world,  and  not  to  be  drawn  back  by  anything  into 
the  sphere  of  doubt  and  suffering,  is  the  prayer  which  swallows 
up  every  other  desire.  Such  a  longing  for  rest  and  peace  is  fully 
intelligible  in  view  of  the  miserable  condition  of  the  age;  and 
we  saw,  also,  how  Augustine's  personality  remained  bound  by 
strong  fetters  to  the  civilisation  of  his  time.  But  the  course  of 
history  necessarily  brought  whatever  was  doubtful  to  full  frui- 
tion; and  it  has  cost  untold  trouble  to  restore  the  equilibrium 
of  values. 

(d)  The  History  of  the  World  and  Christianity 

Up  to  this  point  it  has  been  the  universal  idea  of  religion,  the 
inner  relation  of  man  to  the  perfect  Spirit,  which  we  have  seen 
occupying  Augustine's  thoughts;  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
historical  Christianity  remained  in  the  background.  But  these 
emerge  with  distinctness  so  soon  as  attention  is  directed  to  the 
actual  state  of  the  world  and  to  the  facts  of  history.  Even  here 
Augustine  is  interested  at  bottom  only  in  the  relation  to  God; 
but  whoever  takes  such  a  large  view  of  religion  will  also  have 
revealed  to  him  a  characteristic  view  of  the  world.  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  here  a  union  of  Christian  and  Neo-Platonic  fea- 
tures. The  world  is  apprehended,  with  perfect  decisiveness,  not 
as  a  necessary  emanation  of  primordial  being,  but  as  a  product 
of  a  free  act:  God  created  it,  not  from  His  own  need,  but  out 
of  the  abundance  of  His  own  goodness  (ex  plenitudine  bonitatis). 
He  created  everything  Himself,  not,  as  the  Neo-Platonists  be- 
lieved, through  the  aid  of  subordinate  gods;  accordingly,  to 
Him  alone  adoration  and  gratitude  are  due.  But  the  world 
which  He  created  is  not  something  indifferent  in  character,  as 
might  be  supposed  from  the  views  of  the  earlier  Church  Fath- 
ers; rather,  in  it  are  revealed  God's  entire  fulness  and  glory;  it 
constitutes  a  communication  and  a  presentation  of  His  whole 


228  CHRISTIANITY 

being.  Moreover,  the  world  is  no  mere  succession  of  detached 
things,  but  a  single  order,  a  closely  united  whole.  Furthermore, 
this  sensuous  existence  does  not  constitute  the  whole  world; 
rather,  it  rests  upon  an  invisible  order  which  preceded  it,  and 
which  continues  to  be  its  life-giving  cause.  What  takes  place  in 
the  human  sphere  is  not  to  be  explained  by  the  external  coexis- 
tence of  things,  but  only  by  the  action  of  inner  forces;  everything 
is  miraculous;  miraculous,  in  particular,  are  the  everyday  oc- 
currences, e.  g.,  the  issuing  of  a  new  being  from  the  seed;  habit 
has  simply  blunted  our  perception.  A  miracle  is  not  something 
arbitrary  and  contrary  to  nature,  but  takes  place  according  to  a 
deeper  nature  and  law;  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance;  we 
merely  call  a  thing  accidental  when  its  causes  are  concealed 
from  us.  Likewise,  the  succession  of  events  is  inwardly  con- 
catenated; the  earlier  event  contains  the  later,  the  "seeds  of 
seeds"  lay  in  the  beginnings  of  the  world's  creation;  to  be  sure, 
particular  places  and  times  brought  about  their  development, 
but  these  were  only  the  occasions,  not  the  efficient  causes.  Thus 
the  world  may  be  likened  to  a  gigantic  tree,  whose  roots  con- 
tain in  invisible  capacities  (vi  potentiaque  causali]  all  the  later 
growth;  the  progress  of  the  world-process  is  just  as  marvellous 
as  all  growth  from  the  seed.  A  further  reason  why  all  diversity 
has  a  fixed  order  is  the  fact  that  God,  the  perfect  Being,  has  be- 
stowed on  created  things  a  graduated  being,  so  that  their  totality 
forms  an  unbroken  chain. 

Thus  the  world,  as  a  representation  of  the  Divine  Being,  be- 
comes vaster,  more  coherent,  more  inward.  So  much  the  more 
painful  is  the  fact  of  all-pervading  evil.  From  the  outset  this 
fact  weighed  with  terrible  force  upon  the  mind  of  our  thinker; 
but  religious  speculation,  which  found  a  basis  for  all  things  in 
God,  only  increased  the  burden.  Moreover,  with  his  perplexed 
reflection  upon  the  problem,  the  subtility  of  Augustine's  sensu- 
ousness  displays  itself  in  a  very  offensive  manner.  In  his  pres- 
entation, evil  appears  to  rule  in  the  physical  world,  and  to 
resist  the  good,  as  if  it  had  an  independent  nature,  as  the  Man- 
ichaeans  taught.  Following  this  assumption,  Augustine  finds  sin 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  229 

chiefly  in  the  sexual  sphere,  and  defends  the  opinion  "  that  sex- 
ual pleasure  is  sin,  and  that  original  sin  is  to  be  explained  from 
procreation  as  the  propagation  of  a  natura  vitiata"  (Harnack). 
By  spinning  out  this  view  in  an  unedifying  manner,  the  thoughts 
of  the  Christian  community  were  directed  to  unclean  things, 
and  their  imaginations  poisoned.  At  the  same  time,  the  grasp 
of  the  nature  of  evil  is  very  superficial.  No  one  is  more  to  blame 
than  Augustine  for  the  fact  that  an  element  of  Manichaeism 
was  grafted  upon  Christianity,  and  continues  to  this  day  to 
cling  to  it. 

But  this  is  only  one  trait  in  a  nature  full  of  contrasts,  and  even 
here  valuable  thoughts  are  interspersed  with  what  is  doubtful  hi 
sentiment.  In  evil  Augustine  sees  not  merely  scattered  events  in 
so  many  individuals,  but  an  all-pervading  phenomenon,  a  great 
stream  of  life;  through  Adam  all  peoples  were  involved  in  sin, 
the  whole  of  humanity  fell  away  from  God,  and  came  under  the 
power  of  the  devil.  Encompassed  by  such  a  total  state  of  cor- 
ruption, the  individual  is  wholly  powerless;  he  cannot  avoid  sin, 
since  his  capacity  for  good  is  extinguished,  and  all  progress 
by  his  own  initiative  excluded.  It  is  further  of  no  avail  to  appeal 
to  free-will;  for,  in  order  to  will  the  good,  we  must  be  good,  and 
good  we  are  not. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  impossible  to  surrender  the  conviction  that 
the  world  as  the  work  of  the  perfect  Spirit  is  good;  in  the  end 
evil  must  serve  the  good.  "  If  it  were  not  good  that  there  should 
be  evil,  evil  would  in  no  wise  have  been  permitted  by  omnipo- 
tent Goodness."  But  how  to  solve  the  direct  contradiction  of 
religious  conviction  and  immediate  experience,  and  to  solve  it 
not  only  for  faith  but  also  for  the  scientific  consciousness  ?  Au- 
gustine is  compelled  to  summon  all  his  power;  he  has,  in  fact, 
united  all  the  resources  of  his  mind  in  a  supreme  effort. 

The  first  step  in  the  solution  is  found  in  the  ancient  Greek 
conviction,  so  energetically  defended  by  the  Neo-Platonists,  that 
evil  has  no  independent  nature,  no  reality  of  its  own,  but  merely 
adheres  to  another  being;  that  it  is  nothing  but  an  obstruction 
and  privation  of  the  good;  "whatever  injures,  robs  the  thing  it 


230  CHRISTIANITY 

injures  of  a  good;  for  if  it  abstracts  no  good,  it  does  no  injury 
at  all."  One  can  lose  only  what  one  possesses;  only  he  who  has 
sight,  e.  g.,  can  become  blind;  the  higher  in  rank  anything  is, 
the  more  it  possesses,  the  greater  is  the  loss  which  it  can  sus- 
tain. According  to  this  point  of  view,  misery  itself  is  a  witness 
to  the  greatness  of  the  original  good;  since  this  good  springs 
from  God,  it  cannot  in  the  end  be  lost.  By  such  a  course  of 
thought,  Augustine  finds  in  every  sort  of  effort,  even  in  the  worst 
misconduct,  the  expression  of  a  desire  for  the  true  and  the  good; 
we  commonly  seek  happiness  and  bliss  by  the  wrong  paths,  but 
happiness  and  bliss  are  what  we  seek. 

But  how  is  the  existence  of  any  sort  of  diminished  good,  or  of 
any  diminution  of  excellencies,  compatible  with  the  activity  of 
omnipotent  Goodness  ?  In  order  to  make  that  evident,  the  above 
metaphysical  argument  is  supplemented  by  an  aesthetic  con- 
sideration. The  world  is  to  be  comprehended,  not  by  its  several 
parts,  but  as  a  whole;  whoever  looks  upon  its  multiplicity  piece- 
meal will  perceive  defects  everywhere.  In  particular,  let  not 
the  judgment  of  the  world  be  influenced  by  the  weal  or  woe  of 
man;  "considered,  not  according  to  human  advantage  or  dis- 
advantage, but  in  itself,  nature  reflects  honour  upon  its  Crea- 
tor." What  in  itself  seems  unreasonable  will  become  clear  when 
seen  from  the  stand-point  of  the  whole,  just  as  the  unity  of  a 
painting  makes  even  the  black  in  it  beautiful,  or,  as  in  a  musical 
composition,  the  discords  serve  the  harmony  of  the  whole. 
Indeed,  the  highest  beauty  may  reveal  itself  in  the  very  com- 
passing and  reconciling  of  contrasts.  Hence,  the  harsh  discord 
of  a  first  impression  is  compatible  with  faith  in  the  perfect  har- 
mony of  a  deeper  view. 

The  point,  however,  in  which  the  world  shows  itself  to  be  a 
whole,  is  not  found  in  the  world  but  above  it,  in  the  Divine  Being. 
It  is  particularly  the  moral  aspect  of  the  idea  of  God  which  con- 
tributes the  reconciling  conclusion:  thus  a  Christian  superstruc- 
ture is  added  to  the  Greek  foundation.  The  evil  of  the  world 
loses  its  irrationality  when  viewed  as  an  indispensable  means  to 
the  manifestation  of  the  moral  perfection  of  God.  Such  a  mani- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  231 

lestation  must  accomplish  two  things:  on  the  one  hand,  the  stern 
reality  of  the  moral  order  and  its  judicial  character  must  be 
shown;  on  the  other,  the  merciful  goodness  of  God.  The 
former  object  is  attained,  if  a  part  of  mankind,  i.  e.,  the  great 
majority  (for  all  by  their  sins  have  fallen  under  condemnation), 
are  abandoned  to  their  merited  punishment;  while  the  second 
aim  is  fulfilled,  if  the  other  part,  without  any  desert  of  its  own, 
finds  salvation  through  grace  alone.  For  the  principle  of  the 
sole  activity  of  God  requires  that  the  election  to  blessedness  or 
perdition  be  not  determined  by  any  distinction  in  performance, 
but  exclusively  by  the  divine  pleasure,  by  the  not  otherwise  con- 
ditioned will  of  divine  omnipotence.  To  assign  any  co-operation 
to  human  freedom  would  be  to  diminish  the  divine  work.  Thus 
freedom,  so  greatly  prized  by  early  Christianity,  is  sacrificed  to 
the  unconditional  dependence  of  man  upon  God  (although,  as 
will  appear  later,  only  in  this  one  line  of  thought).  The  good,  it 
is  here  maintained,  is  not  the  work  of  man  but  of  God:  "what 
is  done  by  thee,  is  done  by  God  working  in  thee." 

Hence,  in  the  order  of  the  world  as  a  whole,  there  are  united 
mercy  and  justice,  gentleness  and  severity;  and  these  form  a 
complete  harmony  when  seen  from  the  divine  point  of  view.  If 
this  harmony  cannot  be  depicted  without  a  defect,  there  is  good 
ground  to  admit  one;  "God  deemed  it  better  to  do  good  with 
evil,  rather  than  not  to  permit  evil  at  all."  Accordingly,  the 
world  is  "beautiful  even  with  its  sinners";  even  the  eternal 
damnation  of  the  lost  belongs  to  the  perfection  of  the  whole. 

Here  we  have  a  heroic  effort  to  find  a  theocentric  solution 
of  the  problem  of  evil.  The  attempt  is  made  under  the  ostensible 
leadership  of  morals,  but  actually  under  the  dominance  of  artis- 
tic conceptions,  or,  as  it  may  also  be  expressed,  under  an  artistic 
construction  of  the  moral  idea.  For  the  above  view  of  the 
world-process  as  a  manifestation  of  the  Divine  Being,  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  qualities  "goodness"  and  'justice,"  and  the  effort 
for  symmetry  and  order  are  all  artistic.  In  truth,  in  this  at- 
tempt, Augustine  is  continuing  the  speculation  of  Plato  much 
more  than  he  is  developing  a  Christian  belief. 


232  CHRISTIANITY 

The  chief  difficulty  with  this  treatment  of  the  world  and  of 
evil  is  one  which  is  common  to  the  whole  supernatural  tendency 
of  the  age.  It  assigns  reality  to  God  alone,  and  at  the  same  time 
struggles  against  the  consequent  resolution  of  the  world  into  mere 
appearance;  it  affirms  a  world  apart  from  God,  and  finds  all  the 
reality  of  this  world  in  God.  Hence,  two  parallel  lines  of 
thought  persist,  unreconciled ;  or  rather,  a  divine  and  a  human,  an, 
eternal  and  a  temporal,  view  of  things  dovetail  into  each  other. 
In  its  rigid  austerity,  Augustine's  doctrine  has  an  element  of  su- 
preme greatness,  so  long  as  it  is  concerned  solely  with  God,  and 
incorporates  the  human  estate  into  the  divine  life  as  an  unsub- 
stantial element.  But  it  is  impossible  for  those  who  bear  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day  thus  completely  to  eliminate  the  hu- 
man point  of  view  and  human  feeling;  and  so  soon  as  these  gain 
ground,  they  draw  the  eternal  into  the  temporal  sphere.  As  a 
consequence,  the  harshness  of  the  picture  becomes  unendurable. 
God  could  save  all  men;  but,  in  order  to  develop  all  sides  of 
His  being  equally,  He  has  not  done  it;  on  the  contrary,  He  has 
hopelessly  damned  the  great  majority  for  all  eternity,  without 
these  lost  souls  having  sinned  one  whit  more  than  those  elected 
to  eternal  blessedness.  Augustine  continually  talks,  indeed,  of 
free  grace,  but  in  reality  he  closely  approximates  an  arbitrary 
despotism;  he  extols  mystery,  and  with  difficulty  avoids  degen- 
erating into  sheer  irrationality.  Finally,  nothing  remains  but  to 
point  to  the  Beyond,  where  all  enigmas  will  be  solved. 

Furthermore,  salvation  or  damnation  is  here  in  every  respect 
definitely  "predetermined"  by  the  eternal  divine  decree,  and  the 
whole  course  of  the  world  completely  settled;  whatever  he  does 
or  leaves  undone,  man  can  alter  nothing,  his  r61e  in  life  is  mi- 
nutely prescribed  for  him.  The  inevitable  result  was  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  incentive  and  all  interest  in  life.  For  the  utmost  ex- 
ertions of  the  damned  can  avail  nothing,  nor  can  the  shortcom- 
ings of  the  elect  do  them  any  injury;  nothing  remains  but  the 
torment  of  uncertainty  as  to  where  one  belongs. 

But,  however  great  the  power  which  this  line  of  thought  ex* 
erted  over  Augustine,  and  however  indomitable  the  energy  with 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  233 

which  he  pursued  it  to  the  end,  again  we  have  before  us  but  one 
side  of  the  man ;  in  his  own  immediate  feeling,  and  so  far  as  his 
position  in  the  life  of  the  Church  was  concerned,  quite  another 
estimate  triumphed.  Augustine,  in  fact,  now  forces  the  above 
line  of  thought  into  abeyance,  and,  without  more  ado,  adopts 
the  temporal  view  of  things,  making  the  eternal  order  merely 
the  background  of  historical  development.  Here  it  appears  as 
though  things  were  still  plastic,  as  if  grace  could  and  must  still 
be  shown  to  man,  as  if  it  were  possible,  even  now,  and  of  one's 
own  accord,  to  make  the  great  decision.  Freedom,  too,  is  once 
more  admitted.  In  order  to  solve  the  problem,  the  individual 
seems  to  require  only  assistance  and  relationship  with  the  whole; 
it  is  expressly  declared  that  the  mercy  of  God  is  not  of  itself  suf- 
ficient, that  the  will  of  man  is  also  necessary.  Hence  a  wide 
chasm  separates  Augustine's  speculative  and  practical  treatment 
of  life. 

These  antitheses  extend  also  to  his  treatment  of  Christianity. 
For  pure  speculation,  Christianity  means  the  supra-historical 
triumph  of  the  eternal  God  over  the  revolt  of  evil,  it  means  a 
manifestation  of  the  divine  capacities  in  their  higher  power. 
But  the  further  treatment  does  full  justice  to  historical  Chris- 
tianity, including  the  work  of  salvation  and  the  personality  of 
Jesus.  Here,  too,  Augustine's  sense  for  what  is  great  and  uni- 
versal discerns  in  Christianity  more  than  a  single  phenomenon 
in  the  course  of  history;  "what  we  now  call  the  Christian  re- 
ligion existed  also  among  the  ancients,  and  was  not  wanting  from 
the  beginning  of  the  human  race  to  the  time  when  Christ  came 
in  the  flesh.  But  since  His  coming,  the  already  existing  true 
religion  began  to  be  called  the  Christian  religion."  At  the  same 
time  Augustine  declared  that  the  entrance  of  the  Divine  into 
history,  as  a  visible  Presence,  constitutes  the  peculiar  greatness 
of  Christianity;  by  that  fact  it  can  help  the  whole  human  race  to 
obtain  salvation,  whereas  the  influence  of  philosophy,  which  can 
avail  itself  only  of  the  non-temporal  action  of  universal  reason,  is 
restricted  to  a  few.  Christ  was  sent  to  free  the  world  from  the 
world.  By  His  suffering  and  triumph  the  power  of  evil  over  us, 


234  CHRISTIANITY 

established  through  the  Fall,  is  broken,  the  solemn  compact 
destroyed  which  testified  against  us,  and  man  once  more  enabled 
to  draw  near  to  God. 

Convictions  such  as  these  Augustine  can  express  broadly 
without  entering  upon  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  person- 
ality and  life  of  Jesus.  But  wherever  his  innermost  feeling  finds 
full  and  free  utterance,  it  testifies  to  the  deepest  impression  of 
this  personality.  Great  above  all  is  the  humility  in  the  majesty 
as  well  as  the  complete  inversion  of  the  natural  estimate  of 
things;  "none  of  his  conceptions  in  relation  to  Christ  is  more 
pronounced  than  that  Christ  has  ennobled  the  things  before 
which  we  shuddered  (shame,  suffering,  pain,  and  death),  and 
robbed  of  their  worth  the  things  we  desired  (namely,  to  obtain 
justice,  to  be  esteemed,  and  to  enjoy)"  (Harnack). 

At  the  same  time,  Augustine  developed  a  philosophy  of  his- 
tory with  Christianity  as  its  central  point.  Humanity  has  the 
same  periods  of  life  as  the  individual;  the  acme  of  manly  vigour 
corresponds  to  the  advent  of  Christ;  after  that,  old  age  began. 
For  while  it  is  indeed  true  that  Christ  established  a  kingdom  of 
imperishable  youth,  such  youth  belongs  to  another  order  of 
things  than  the  earthly.  Hence  the  earthly  sphere  is  not  the  chief 
arena  of  effort;  nor  is  there  any  longing  to  accomplish  the  ut- 
most possible  here,  to  give  a  rational  form  to  the  whole  extent  of 
mundane  things;  on  the  contrary,  all  external  conditions  are 
indifferent  as  compared  with  the  inner  state  and  with  spiritual 
goods.  This  ascetic  tendency  paralyses  all  effort  for  social  re- 
form; e.  g.,  slavery  is  allowed  to  remain  undisturbed,  although 
it  originated  in  the  Fall,  and  slave  and  master  are  equal  before 
God.  For  "  the  good  man  is  free  even  when  he  serves  another, 
while  the  evil  man  is  a  slave  even  when  he  rules." 

Just  as  Augustine  will  not  devote  his  powers  to  earthly  things, 
so  his  affections  refuse  to  be  fixed  upon  this  life,  to  find  here 
their  home.  It  is  true  that  here  and  there  appear  rudiments  of 
an  attempt  to  uplift  this 'finite  existence  by  the  immediate  pres- 
ence of  the  Divine,  and  to  triumph  over  this  world,  not  by  with- 
drawing from  it,  but  by  inwardly  transforming  it.  Augustine 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  235 

regards  it  as  wrong  to  take  the  expression  "world"  always  in  a 
bad  sense;  to  him  it  seems  nobler  to  possess  earthly  things  with- 
out depending  upon  them  than  altogether  to  renounce  them. 
At  times,  prohibitions  appear  to  be  given  only  because  men  as 
we  actually  find  them  are  incapable  of  self-control.  The  pious 
man  is  not  miserable  even  in  this  life  of  trial;  for  he  can  always 
withdraw  from  the  sphere  of  suffering  to  a  life  with  God,  to  a 
fellowship  with  divine  love,  which  bestows  peace  and  joy  upon 
his  innermost  soul. 

Nevertheless,  the  deep  consciousness  of  the  burden  of  suffer- 
ing, waywardness,  and  guilt,  the  strong  sense  of  the  uncertainty 
and  imperfection  of  human  existence,  do  not  permit  of  any  com- 
plete satisfaction  here  below;  true  and  perfect  happiness  still 
belong  to  the  Beyond.  There  alone  can  we  find  peace  and 
blessed  vision,  while  here  we  merely  work  and  hope;  this  life  is 
a  mere  preparation,  a  pilgrimage  in  a  foreign  land,  an  abode  of 
temptation;  indeed,  in  comparison  with  the  next  life  it  is  death. 
Hence,  the  earthly  life  has  worth  only  in  view  of  the  life  to  come. 
For  it  serves  as  an  education  for  the  latter;  and,  amid  all  trials 
and  griefs,  it  holds  the  certainty  of  a  better  future.  In  truth, 
when  our  thoughts  ascend  to  it  in  anticipation,  all  the  obscurity 
which  now  surrounds  us  seems  to  be  but  a  thin  veil  that  will 
soon  fall;  as  compared  with  the  glory  of  the  perfect  life,  all  the 
suffering  of  the  present  fades  into  a  mere  dream.  We  are  only 
seemingly  sad,  for  our  sadness  shall  pass  away  even  as  a  sleep, 
and  in  the  morning  the  good  shall  reign.  But  as  to  immortality, 
there  is  here  not  the  slightest  doubt,  for  the  essence  of  life  is  de- 
cisively transferred  from  the  visible  to  the  invisible,  from  time 
to  eternity,  from  man  to  God;  whoever  loves  God  with  the 
whole  heart  is  perfectly  secure,  in  that  love,  of  personal  inde- 
structibility. For  "such  a  one  knows  that  nothing  will  perish 
for  him  that  does  not  perish  for  God.  God,  however,  is  the 
Lord  of  the  living  and  the  dead." 

The  thought,  however,  of  future  destiny,  and  not  personal 
destiny  alone,  but  the  destiny  of  kindred,  becomes  a  powerful 
incentive  *o  ceaseless  toil  in  the  present.  Especially  effective  in 


236  CHRISTIANITY 

this  regard  is  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,  a  middle  state  between 
bliss  and  damnation,  particularly  in  conjunction  with  the  belief 
that  the  petitions  and  deeds  of  the  living  can  moderate  the  suf- 
ferings of  those  in  purgatory.  The  elaboration  of  such  a  doctrine 
reveals  Augustine's  minute  knowledge  of  the  motives  and  weak- 
nesses of  the  human  heart. 

Such  a  concentration  of  attention  upon  the  Beyond  stamps 
all  joy  in  the  goods  of  this  life  as  wrong.  The  possession  of 
worldly  goods  is,  therefore,  regarded  as  a  hindrance  to  the  moral 
life  and  to  consecration  to  God.  Here  the  ideal  of  asceticism 
appears  in  full  strength;  private  property  is  looked  upon  as  a 
chief  source  of  the  world's  misery;  whoever  altogether  relin- 
quishes its  possession  surpasses  him  who  only  surrenders  the 
love  of  it.  Celibacy  becomes  a  higher  state  than  matrimony; 
even  the  extinction  of  the  human  race  as  a  consequence  of  uni- 
versal celibacy  would  be  greeted  by  Augustine  with  joy.  Hence 
affection,  like  hope,  in  the  end  attaches  itself  wholly  to  the  Be- 
yond. 

(e)  The  Church 

So  far,  two  spheres  of  thought  have  been  introduced  by  Augus- 
tine, the  universal  religious  sphere  and  the  Christian;  besides 
these,  however,  there  is  a  third  realm  which  calls  forth  his  efforts 
and  often  appears  to  monopolise  them,  namely,  the  life  of  the 
Church,  the  visible  religious  community  fully  equipped  with 
fixed  ordinances.  Two  chief  motives  impelled  Augustine  to 
take  up  and  vigorously  to  perfect  all  that  the  Latins  had  ac- 
complished by  way  of  strengthening  ecclesiastical  power  and 
authority:  its  utility  for  the  masses,  and  its  necessity  for  his 
own  inconstant  mind.  His  early  writings  in  particular  give  very 
frank  expression  to  considerations  of  expediency.  In  common 
with  the  other  Church  Fathers,  Augustine  sees  the  chief  supe- 
riority of  Christianity  in  the  fact  that  it  offers  salvation,  not  to 
some  few,  but  to  the  whole  of  mankind.  If,  at  the  same  time, 
there  exists  a  deep  distrust  of  the  capacity  of  individuals,  and 
the  ancient  idea  of  a  permanent  separation  of  humanity  into  an 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  237 

intelligent  minority  and  an  unintelligent  majority  prevails,  then 
authority  and  faith  become  indispensable;  the  cultivated  man 
does  not  need  these  for  himself,  but  even  he  must  submit  to  them 
hi  order  not  to  shake  the  faith  of  the  masses  by  availing  himself 
of  his  freedom;  "even  if  such  do  themselves  no  harm,  they  will 
harm  others  by  their  example."  Here  the  Church  appears  as  an 
institution  for  the  education  and  disciplining  of  the  masses; 
faith,  i.  e.,  submission  to  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  is  recom- 
mended on  the  ground  of  certainty,  indeed,  of  convenience!  Far 
more  forcibly,  however,  than  by  such  reasons  of  utility,  Augus- 
tine is  impelled  by  his  own  restless  nature,  which  is  torn  by  con- 
tradictions, to  seek  a  firm  support  inaccessible  to  doubt.  Plainly, 
all  the  soaring  of  speculation  did  not  insure  him  against  harass- 
ing doubts;  in  spite  of  his  intellectual  power  he  possessed  the 
nature  of  a  Thomas,  who  must  touch  and  grasp  whatever  he  is 
to  recognise  as  true,  and  who  does  not  accept  the  reality  of  spir- 
itual entities,  unless  some  material  embodiment  brings  them  di- 
rectly before  the  eyes.  Hence,  he  clings  with  his  whole  soul  to 
the  Church  as  an  indispensable  support,  and  confesses  for  him- 
self, "I  would  not  believe  in  the  Gospel  were  I  not  constrained 
by  the  authority  of  the  Catholic  Church." 

For  such  a  line  of  thought,  the  central  conception  of  the  intel- 
lectual and  religious  life  becomes  the  Church,  the  fellowship  of 
the  new  life,  the  institution  dispensing  pardon,  through  which 
alone  the  divine  love,  and  with  it  a  new  life,  is  imparted  to 
man,  particularly  by  means  of  the  sacraments.  Here  alone  is 
salvation  accessible,  here  alone  are  sins  forgiven,  here  alone  is 
there  the  possibility  of  a  moral  life.  For  the  individual,  accord- 
ingly, there  is  no  salvation  without  submission  to  the  doctrine 
and  the  life  of  the  Church.  "Without  a  strong  rule  of  authority 
(sine  quodam  gravi  auctoritatis  imperio)  the  true  religion  cannot 
subsist." 

It  is  the  Church  as  a  visible  order,  as  an  established  institu- 
tion, that  first  wins  Augustine's  veneration.  But  he  could  not 
justify  such  an  estimate,  even  to  himself,  did  not  the  visible 
organisation  assume  spiritual  powers,  were  it  Hot,  also,  in  spite 


238  CHRISTIANITY 

of  its  independence,  a  member  of  wider  relationships.  Such, 
however,  it  becomes  in  fact;  without  surrendering  its  own 
nature,  the  temporal  and  visible  acquires  the  qualities  of  a 
higher  order  and  derives  therefrom  a  deeper  content,  a  greater 
power,  an  unspeakable  sanctity;  whatever  is  drawn  from  this 
source  enriches  and  elevates  the  visible,  so  that  visible  and  in- 
visible merge  into  a  single  whole  of  life.  The  sphere  of  the 
Cnurch  here  appears  wholly  to  absorb  that  of  religion  and  that  of 
the  Christian  life;  and  since  everything  rational  in  life  is  here 
connected  with  religion,  there  is  absolutely  nothing  good  outside 
the  Church:  without  the  Catholic  Church  no  Christianity;  with- 
out Christianity  no  religion;  without  religion  no  rational  life. 
Accordingly,  the  attitude  toward  the  Church  determines  in  the 
end  the  worth  and  blessedness  of  man. 

This  blending  of  the  sensible  and  the  spiritual,  the  temporal 
and  the  eternal,  was  not  accomplished  abruptly  with  Augustine; 
he  was  brought  to  it  by  the  whole  development  of  the  earlier 
Church.  Yet  the  movement  now  assumes  large  dimensions  and 
unfolds  its  full  strength;  with  this  expansion,  Augustine  becomes 
the  founder  of  mediaeval  Catholicism. 

The  importance  of  the  above  fusion,  no  less  than  its  historical 
necessity,  is  obvious.  Through  it,  life  secures  a  firm  basis  and 
conduct  a  tangible  aim ;  all  forces  are  united  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  single  task.  Inasmuch  as  the  visible  acquires  invisible 
powers,  the  temporal  directly  communicates  the  eternal,  not  as 
its  mere  symbol,  but  as  inseparably  united  with  it  in  growth,  as 
inseparably  confluent  with  it;  the  interest  in  what  takes  place 
among  us  and  through  us  infinitely  increases;  man  here  knows 
that  he  is  securely  sheltered  in  divine  relationships,  and  that  no 
part  of  his  conduct  is  lost.  The  fundamental  conception  of 
Christianity,  that  of  the  union  of  the  Divine  and  the  human 
(which  are  usually  separated),  of  the  entrance  of  the  Eternal 
into  time,  is  here  carried  out  in  a  highly  effective,  although 
assailable,  form,  and  one  which  was  peculiarly  suitable  to  the 
historical  conditions.  For  how  could  Christianity,  at  the  time 
of  the  migrations  and  the  formation  of  new  nations,  have 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  239 

wrought  and  ruled  in  any  other  form  than  this  ?  Nothing,  how- 
ever, distinguishes  Augustine  more  widely  from  Plotinus,  and 
also  from  the  fathers  of  the  Greek  Church,  than  this  prominence 
of  the  religious  community  and  its  history,  this  acquired  inde- 
pendence of  a  temporal  conception  and  order  of  things. 

But  the  importance  and  real  power  of  this  development  in- 
volve at  the  same  time  serious  complications.  The  uniting  of 
the  eternal  and  invisible  with  a  particular  historical  institution 
results  in  the  danger  of  circumscribing  and  crystallising,  as  well 
as  externalising,  the  spiritual  content;  the  danger  of  limiting 
eternal  truths  to  transitory  forms,  and  inner  aims  to  outward 
performances.  It  is  possible,  indeed  unavoidable,  that  a  harsh 
exclusivism  and  a  passionate  fanaticism  should  arise* when  those 
who  have  no  share  in  this  visible  community  and  do  not  meet  its 
requirements  lose  all  connection  with  the  kingdom  of  God,  in 
fact  with  the  rational  life.  Moreover,  the  question  suggests 
itself  whether  Augustine  did  not  merely  decree  instead  of  prove 
the  unity  of  these  two  spheres,  whether  the  conceptions  are  not 
rather  externally  conjoined  than  really  united.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  all  the  chief  concepts  have  here  a  double  sense.  Chris- 
tianity is  now  the  eternal  revelation  of  God,  pervading  all  time, 
now  a  particular,  limited,  historical  order;  the  Church  now  the 
invisible  communion  of  the  elect  of  God,  now  a  visible  organisa- 
tion with  a  human  head;  faith  now  the  humble  dedication  of 
the  whole  being  to  divine  truth,  now  the  mere  acceptance  of  the 
teaching  of  the  Church  without  personal  examination;  the 
miraculous  now  the  evidence  of  supernatural  powers  in  all 
events,  now  an  occasional  interruption  of  the  course  of  nature, 
*.  e.,  of  the  habit  of  divine  action.  To  bring  this  equivocal  use 
of  terms  distinctly  into  view  would  mean  to  shatter  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  Augustinian  system  and  of  the  mediaeval  order. 

But  while  Augustine  confines  all  the  spiritual  life  of  the  com- 
munity to  the  Church,  he  at  the  same  time  does  his  utmost  to 
give  life  within  the  Church  a  rich  content.  A  mystic  fundamental 
conception,  an  intimate  feeling,  a  sober  practical  activity,  here 
reciprocally  aid  and  support  one  another.  It  was  inevitable  that 


240  CHRISTIANITY 

Augustine,  who  thought  so  meanly  of  man,  and  felt  so  keenly  the 
moral  defects  of  his  age,  should  make  the  substance  of  this  life 
independent  of  the  characteristics  of  individual  persons.  Thus 
he  developed  the  doctrine  of  the  sanctity  of  the  priestly  office 
(sacramentum  ordinis),  and  contended  that  the  priest  as  priest 
possessed  a  peculiar  "character,"  independent  of  the  qualities 
of  the  individual. 

Just  as  the  Church  provides  its  members  with  all  the  goods  of 
the  Christian  life,  so  in  particular  it  strengthens  love,  which  in 
Augustine's  view  forms  the  essence  of  the  Christian  life.  If  we 
ask  whether  any  one  is  a  good  man,  we  do  not  ask  what  he  be- 
lieves and  what  he  hopes,  but  what  he  loves;  the  soul  is  present 
rather  where  it  loves  than  where  it  lives;  it  becomes  what  it  loves; 
not  faith  and  hope,  but  love,  reaches  above  life  to  the  Beyond. 
Love,  which  is  imparted  to  us  by  God,  especially  by  means  of 
the  sacraments,  enhances  and  ennobles  all  the  virtues.  Love, 
however,  ought  not  to  remain  a  mere  matter  of  disposition,  but 
should  assume  definite  forms  of  expression  and  incorporate  it- 
self in  visible  works.  Virtue  becomes  in  this  way  the  "order  of 
love";  works,  even  in  the  sense  of  a  tangible  achievement,  are 
indispensable,  since  man  as  a  member  of  the  community  must 
also  give  practical  proof  of  his  disposition.  The  requisite  works 
are:  in  the  case  of  religion,  participating  in  the  ordinances  of 
the  Church,  especially  the  sacraments;  in  the  case  of  moral 
conduct,  the  showing  of  mercy,  and  the  care  of  the  poor  and  the 
unfortunate.  Augustine  does  not  restrict  himself  here  to  the 
welfare  of  individuals,  but  magnifies  the  beneficent  effect  of 
Christianity  and  of  the  Church  upon  the  total  condition  of  so- 
ciety; to  wit,  the  improvement  of  the  relations  of  master  and 
slave;  the  promotion  of  the  brotherhood  of  classes,  of  nations, 
and  of  all  mankind,  and  the  establishment  of  inner  bonds  of 
union  between  rulers  and  peoples. 

In  this  education  of  the  race,  the  ultimate  thought  of  the 
Church  is  always  the  Beyond;  an  other-worldly  sentiment  fills 
the  minds  of  her  servants.  But  the  Church  cannot  in  this  world 
prepare  for  the  next,  without  also  exercising  authority  over 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  241 

the  world,  without  subjecting  to  itself  all  other  powers;  not 
from  the  love  of  temporal  power — for  her  own  inclination  would 
lead  the  Church  to  withdraw  wholly  from  the  world — but  from 
solicitude  for  the  salvation  of  the  whole  of  humanity.  But,  not- 
withstanding all  the  effort  to  maintain  such  a  height,  the  danger 
is  almost  unavoidable  that  the  earthly  will  confine  the  spiritual 
to  its  own  limits,  and  by  involving  it  in  temporal  affairs,  draw 
it  down  to  their  level.  Not  only  may  the  individual  easily  fall 
a  prey  to  the  lust  of  power,  but  the  conduct  of  the  Church  also 
may  closely  approximate  to  the  character  of  secular  politics.  In 
an  evil  world,  the  state  of  which,  according  to  Augustine,  can 
never  be  materially  improved,  the  Church  could  accomplish 
nothing  without  taking  account  of  actual  conditions.  Hence, 
whether  good  or  bad,  she  must  come  to  terms  with  those  condi- 
tions; she  must  and  may  tolerate  (tolerare)  many  things  which 
of  herself  she  would  wish  otherwise.  Thus  the  Church  also  be- 
comes more  and  more  an  empire  of  this  world;  and  amid  the 
cares  of  her  temporal  power  her  religious  character  is  in  danger 
of  becoming  weakened  and  her  ideals  of  being  lowered. 

Such  a  church  cannot  possibly  regard  the  state  as  possessing 
equal  rights  and  privileges.  The  peculiar  circumstances  of  an  age 
in  which  the  state  had  already  become  Christian,  while  the  idea 
of  the  ancient  state  continued  to  exert  a  potent  influence,  were  re- 
flected in  Augustine's  mind  by  a  qualified  judgment;  the  state, 
namely,  must  be  sternly  repulsed  when  it  opposes  the  Church, 
or  seeks  to  usurp  her  place;  but  within  its  limited  sphere  it  is  to 
be  prized,  if  it  acknowledges  and  furthers  the  higher  aims  of  the 
Church.  Under  the  former  circumstances,  a  passionate  hatred 
of  the  state  develops  which  is  almost  without  a  parallel  in  his- 
tory. The  earthly  and  the  heavenly  kingdoms  are  diametrically 
opposed,  and  the  development  of  their  opposition  runs  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  history;  the  former  springs  from  self- 
love  carried  to  the  extreme  of  contempt  for  God,  the  latter  from 
love  of  God  carried  to  the  point  of  contempt  for  self.  Cain  and 
Abel  appear  as  their  respective  founders.  Of  Cain  we  are  told, 
"he  founded  the  state"  (condidit  civitatem);  the  secular  state 


242  CHRISTIANITY 

traces  its  origin,  therefore,  to  a  fratricide!  The  Christianised 
state  meets  with  more  approbation;  it  has  a  task  of  its  own 
assigned  to  it,  one  which  is  aside  from  that  of  the  Church,  since 
the  requirements  of  life  demand  an  organisation  common  to  be- 
lievers and  unbelievers.  In  particular,  the  state  has  to  maintain 
order  and  peace;  the  Church  herself  offers  no  objection  to  obey- 
ing civil  laws  in  temporal  matters.  Augustine  concedes  to  the 
state  so  much  independence  in  this  direction,  that  in  the  medi- 
aeval conflicts  the  friends  of  the  state  were  able  to  appeal  to  his 
authority.  But  this  recognition  of  the  state  is  confined  to  sec- 
ular things;  eternal  salvation  and  spiritual  goods  are  in  the  sole 
charge  of  the  Church,  on  which  rests  the  responsibility  for  the 
education  and  culture  of  mankind.  To  the  latter  alone,  there- 
fore, belongs  the  devotion  of  the  inner  man. 

It  is  much  the  same  with  the  nation  and  the  fatherland.  The 
Church  pursues  upon  earth  her  heavenly  aims  undisturbed  by 
the  discrepancies  in  customs,  laws,  and  methods  of  organisation; 
whatever  among  different  nations  serves  in  various  ways  the 
ends  of  earthly  peace  she  does  not  disturb,  rather  she  upholds  it 
and  conforms  herself  to  it,  so  long  as  it  forms  no  obstacle  to  true 
religion.  But  the  spiritual  task  remains  untouched  by  the  life 
of  the  nation;  only  in  the  lower  sphere  of  mundane  existence  is 
the  nation  tolerated  as  something  of  natural  origin.  Personally, 
moreover,  Augustine  possessed  no  patriotism;  his  fatherland 
was  Christianity.  Hence,  here,  all  life  outside  the  Church 
touches  the  Christian  only  from  without,  and  as  something  alien. 

Associated  with  the  complications  arising  from  the  conflict 
with  the  world  are  dangers  in  the  inner  life  of  a  church  which 
knows  nothing  divine  beyond  its  own  ordinances.  It  possesses 
no  freedom  for  individuals,  no  inner  constraint  by  a  truth  pres- 
ent in  the  depths  of  a  man's  soul.  All  dissent  and  separation 
are  regarded  as  the  result  of  a  depraved  will,  of  an  arrogant  pre- 
sumption; the  unbeliever  (infidelis) — no  one  has  done  more 
than  Augustine  to  bring  this  name  into  contempt  and  dishonour 
— is  one  who  will  not  believe  the  divine  Word;  a  heretic,  one 
"who,  for  the  sake  of  a  temporal  advantage  and  particularly  his 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  243 

own  fame  and  distinction,  either  proposes  or  accepts  false  new 
opinions."  When,  in  addition,  such  wilful  dissent,  being  a 
menace  to  constituted  authority,  does  injury  to  the  community, 
then  violent  hatred  darts  forth,  and  there  is  a  burning  desire  for 
the  extermination  of  the  evil,  root  and  branch.  Scarcely  any- 
where else  does  Augustine's  passion  break  forth  with  such  wild 
impetuosity  as  here  where  the  whole  fervour  of  religious  desire 
is  concentrated  upon  the  ecclesiastical  system;  to  be  sure, 
Christian  love  also  is  to  remain  intact,  inasmuch  as  the  con- 
straint operates  for  the  salvation  of  those  affected;  yet  this  love 
and  solicitude  after  all  possess  the  character  of  compulsion :  one 
should  compel  those  who  nominally  belong  to  Christianity  to 
accept  it  (compelle  inlrare),  and  force  goodness  upon  such  as  are 
enemies  of  themselves.  "Destroy  false  doctrines,  but  love 
men,"  is  the  phrase;  and  God  is  besought  "Mayest  Thou  put 
to  death  the  enemies  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  with  a  two-edged 
sword,  and  make  them  to  cease  their  hostility  to  Thee.  For  so 
I  wish  them  destroyed,  that  they  may  live  in  Thee."  Thus,  with 
evident  self-deception,  Augustine's  feelings  become  marvellously 
confounded;  transplanted  to  the  soil  of  the  Church,  all  the 
lower  emotions  threaten  to  spring  into  life  again,  and  even  the 
most  fanatical  hatred  to  put  on  the  cloak  of  Christian  love.  It 
is,  indeed,  a  rank  soil  for  the  production  of  religious  persecu- 
tions, inquisitions,  and  heresy  trials — those  saddest  outgrowths 
of  Christianity. 

In  a  similar  way  the  substance  of  morality  was  injured  by 
the  omnipotence  of  the  Church  and  of  ecclesiastical  interests. 
.Morality,  in  consequence,  appears  not  as  an  independent  realm 
possessing  intrinsic  worth,  but  as  a  sum  of  religious  ordinances, 
or,  since  religion  is  here  identical  with  the  Church,  of  ecclesias- 
tical rules.  Hence,  there  is  morally  good  conduct  in  the  strict 
sense  only  within  the  Catholic  Church;  even  the  sublimest  works 
of  self-sacrificing  love  and  renunciation  are  not  of  the  slightest 
avail  for  those  who  are  not  Catholics;  in  fact,  such  deeds,  being 
without  the  pale  of  the  Church,  are  not  good  deeds  at  all. 

Moreover,  this  dependence  of  morality  upon  the  ecclesiastica! 


244  CHRISTIANITY 

organisation  unavoidably  subjected  it  to  all  the  flux  and  change 
of  time.  That  alterations  in  the  rules  of  life  take  place  in  the 
course  of  history  was  evident  to  Augustine's  age  above  all  from 
the  difference  between  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament;  the 
change  is  most  marked  in  the  progress  from  polygamy,  which 
was  originally  permitted,  through  monogamy  to  chastity,  which, 
although  not  required,  was  yet  desired.  In  such  changes, 
Augustine  thought  that  it  is  not  the  opinions  of  men  but  the 
moral  law  itself  that  alters;  what  was  earlier  allowed  later 
comes  to  be  forbidden. 

Owing  to  the  relativity  of  morals,  it  is  possible  for  acts  to  be- 
come obligatory  which  are  in  direct  contradiction  with  univer- 
sal moral  laws,  provided  it  is  indisputable  that  a  divine  com- 
mand requires  them  to  be  performed.  Like  the  laws  of  nature, 
moral  laws  also  become  mere  rules,  which  can  be  broken  at  any 
time  in  the  interests  of  religion.  The  danger  of  this  develop- 
ment is  felt  by  Augustine  himself;  hence,  he  demands  the  most 
rigorous  proofs  that  any  exceptional  command  really  comes  from 
God;  he  is,  therefore,  cautious  in  his  application  of  the  rule  to 
individual  instances,  more  cautious  than  other  Church  Fathers 
of  his  time.  Still,  his  elevation  of  it  into  a  principle  contributed 
largely  toward  the  destruction  of  the  independence  of  morals 
and  the  subordination  of  moral  to  ecclesiastical  interests. 

In  all  this  we  see  the  ecclesiastical  system  expand  without 
limit;  we  see  it  enslave  religion,  shape  intellectual  life  in  accord- 
ance with  its  own  ends,  and  crush  its  opponents.  In  the  case  of 
Augustine  himself,  however,  authority  and  ecclesiastical  power 
are  merged  in  the  most  powerful  personal  forces;  personality, 
with  its  immediate  relation  to  God,  remains  the  animating  soul 
of  the  whole.  From  the  life  with  God,  as  this  not  only  strives 
toward  mystical  absorption  in  the  deepest  ground  of  all  being, 
but  also  develops  through  personal  intercourse  an  ethical  com- 
munity, there  flow  unceasingly  into  the  ecclesiastical  organisa- 
tion strength,  warmth,  and  inwardness,  which  prevent  it  from 
sinking  into  a  soulless  mechanism  of  ceremonial  observances 
and  legalism.  Authority  itself  is  not  operative  here  as  an  in- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  245 

flexible  fact  and  by  the  mere  weight  of  its  existence;  rather, 
an  inner  need,  a  compelling  personal  demand  for  happiness  and 
for  a  firm  support,  force  men  to  seek  it  and  maintain  it.  From 
these  life-giving  depths  the  ecclesiastical  system  derives  in  great 
part  that  vast  power  over  the  minds  of  men  which  it  has  exer- 
cised even  down  to  the  present  time.  But  can  all  the  magnitude 
of  the  achievement  conceal  the  contradiction  involved  in  the 
fact  that  man  is  raised  to  such  a  spontaneous,  independent, 
and  transforming  personal  life,  and  also  required  to  submit  him- 
self unconditionally  to  the  ecclesiastical  system?  For  the  time 
being,  the  contradiction  was  obscured;  but  in  the  end  men  in- 
evitably became  aware  of  it,  and  were  led  into  new  paths. 

(f)  Retrospect 

It  is  not  necessary  to  encumber  our  lengthy  review  of  Augus- 
tine with  comprehensive  reflections.  It  will  suffice  briefly  to 
remind  ourselves  how  much  the  whole  has  exhibited  at  once  the 
riches  and  the  immaturity  of  Augustine's  activity  and  nature. 
We  saw  three  spheres  of  life,  that  of  universal  religion,  that  of 
Christianity,  and  that  of  the  Church,  unfold  themselves  into 
great  realms,  appropriate  the  whole  of  reality,  and  give  to  hu- 
man existence  a  peculiar  form.  Partly  combining  and  inter- 
penetrating, partly  intersecting  and  inwardly  conflicting,  these 
three  spheres  of  reality  produce  an  unlimited  breadth  and  ful- 
ness of  life,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  stubborn  contradic- 
tions. The  same  thinker  who,  in  shaking  off  ancient  traditions, 
made  the  individual  life  of  the  soul  the  all-dominating  central 
point  of  reality,  has  done  more  than  any  other  to  found  a  sys- 
tem of  absolute  authority;  the  man,  to  whom  love  became  the 
soul  of  life,  indeed  the  power  by  which  God  moves  the  world, 
kindled  indescribable  hatred  by  the  exaggerated  fanaticism  he 
displayed  toward  those  of  other  faiths;  he  who,  by  a  regenerat- 
ing revolution  accomplished  a  radical  liberation  of  the  spiritual 
and  the  moral  from  all  natural  conditions,  fell  a  prey,  in  another 
direction,  to  a  confusion  of  natural  events  and  free  human  acts, 


246  CHRISTIANITY 

indeed,  even  to  a  crude  materialising  of  the  moral  life.  In  par- 
ticular, moreover,  his  whole  effort  is  pervaded  by  a  contradic- 
tory treatment  of  the  individual  subject;  at  one  time  the  latter  is 
summoned  to  the  boldest  activity,  and,  confident  of  victory, 
feels  itself  superior  to  all  existence;  at  another,  overcome  with 
distressing  doubts  as  to  its  own  capacities,  and  passionately 
longing  for  some  secure  support,  it  obediently  submits  itself  to 
an  external  authority. 

The  most  serious  thing  about  Augustine's  nature,  which  is  as 
transparent  in  certain  directions  as  it  is  unintelligible  as  a 
whole,  is  the  difference  of  its  spiritual,  and  particularly  moral, 
levels;  there  is  no  other  great  thinker  in  whom  the  heights  and 
depths  lie  so  far  apart.  On  the  one  hand,  there  is  a  marvellous 
warmth  of  affection,  the  deepest  sympathy  for  every  sort  of 
human  destiny,  a  power  to  vitalise  the  best  and  noblest  in  man, 
a  capacity  to  act  as  the  vehicle  of  divine  power;  on  the  other, 
the  impetuous  clamouring  for  happiness,  so  defenceless  against 
intrusions  of  the  lower  impulses,  consumes  all  aspiration  and, 
particularly  where  the  eminent  logical  abilities  of  the  man  are 
pressed  into  its  service,  and  the  sensibility  is  blunted  against 
every  contradiction  of  immediate  feeling,  brings  forth  the  most 
ghastly  products.  That  repulsive  fusion  of  glowing  passion 
with  cold,  relentless  consistency,  which  often  characterises  later 
religious  conflicts,  begins  with  Augustine. 

But  that  which  was  a  defect  in  the  thing  itself  became  a  source 
of  strength  to  the  result.  The  most  diverse  tendencies  of  the  age 
found  in  Augustine  not  only  a  point  of  contact  but  an  adequate, 
indeed  a  classical,  interpretation;  he  is  the  most  eloquent 
spokesman  of  its  inmost  intention.  At  the  same  time,  each 
can  here  supplement  itself  by  the  others;  and  all  disagreeable 
consequences  may  be  averted  by  the  ever-present  possibility  of 
new  developments.  Augustine,  in  fact,  possesses  a  unique 
value  for  the  comprehension  of  every  kind  of  tendency,  inas- 
much as  in  him  all  kinds  show  in  the  most  distinct  manner  how 
they  originate  from  the  totality  of  human  nature,  and  also  reveal 
with  the  most  transparent  clearness  their  ultimate  motives.  In 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  247 

particular,  it  is  here  evident  how  deeply  rooted  in  the  spiritual 
needs  of  man  the  system  of  mediaeval  Catholicism  is,  and  how 
securely  it  is  fortified  by  that  fact  against  every  assault  either 
of  rude  force  or  of  petty  ridicule. 

To  define  Augustine's  historical  position  is  by  no  means  easy. 
Obviously  he  forms  the  intellectual  culmination  of  early  Chris- 
tianity and  dominates  the  Middle  Ages.  But  later  Christianity 
has  constantly  drawn  from  him,  and  the  Reformation  in  its 
main  theses  appealed  to  his  authority;  indeed,  it  is  scarcely  a 
paradox  to  say  that  if  the  present  generation  means  again  to 
take  up  the  fundamental  problems  of  religion,  and  to  take  them 
up  independently,  it  must  go  back  for  its  historical  orienta- 
tion, not  to  Schleiermacher  or  Kant,  not  to  Luther  or  Thomas, 
but  to  Augustine,  as  the  point  where  all  later  developments  were 
in  the  formative  stage,  and  where,  accordingly,  their  justifica- 
tion or  non-justification  will  be  evident  to  critical  examination. 
Moreover,  aside  from  religion,  the  modern  thinker  will  find 
many  points  of  contact  with  Augustine,  if  only  he  penetrates 
beneath  the  often  curious  expression  of  the  thought  to  the  es- 
sence of  the  matter.  In  some  respects  Augustine,  with  his  all- 
dominating  subjectivity,  stands  nearer  to  us  than  Hegel  and 
Schopenhauer. 

Nevertheless,  we  hesitate  to  follow  the  example  of  prominent 
scholars  of  our  own  day  and  call  him  outright  a  modern  man. 
Undoubtedly,  Augustine  has  much  that  is  modern,  above  all 
in  that  ardent,  penetrating  subjectivity,  and  hi  that  marvellous 
nature  which  embraced  the  harshest  contradictions.  But  does 
that  of  itself  make  him  a  modern?  In  truth,  there  is  wanting 
much  that  seems  indispensable  to  the  modern  character.  He 
knows  nothing  of  a  clear  analysis  of  subject  and  object,  nothing 
of  a  desire  for  a  world  of  pure  objectivity,  of  passionless  truth, 
of  disinterested  work,  such  as  pervades  the  modern  world  and 
counteracts  all  mere  subjectivity;  on  the  contrary,  he  swiftly 
universalises  the  subjective  and  gives  it  objectivity.  Moreover, 
the  direct  and  exclusive  concentration  of  his  thought  and  effort 
upon  religion  does  not  permit  him  to  concern  himself  in  the 


248  CHRISTIANITY 

affairs  of  the  actual  world,  leaves  no  room  for  the  ideal  of  the 
universal  man  in  the  sense  of  modern  times.  Finally,  strongly 
marked  traits  of  antiquity  live  on  in  him :  from  the  classical  age, 
namely,  the  cosmic  speculation,  the  plastic  moulding  of  reality, 
the  distinction  of  an  esoteric  and  an  exoteric  life;  and  from  the 
closing  period,  the  longing  for  a  haven  of  rest  secluded  from  all 
storms,  for  a  finally  settled  decision  to  be  enjoyed  in  secure 
peace,  also  the  exaggeration  of  the  opposition  of  the  sensuous 
and  the  spiritual.  In  other  respects — and  the  best — he  merely 
followed  his  own  genius,  and  in  so  doing  develops  an  imper- 
ishable greatness.  Hence,  it  is  surely  better  not  to  place  Augus- 
tine in  any  particular  group  or  epoch,  but  to  recognise  in  him 
one  of  the  few  personalities  from  whom  later  ages  draw  inspira- 
tion, and  who  serve  as  a  lodestar  in  the  solution  of  those  eternal 
problems  which  transcend  all  ages. 

III.  THE  MIDDLE  AGES 
(a)  The  Early  Middle  Ages 

Were  it  our  task  to  speak  of  the  general  mediaeval  view  of 
life,  instead  of  the  views  of  life  of  mediaeval  thinkers,  a  charac- 
teristic and  attractive  theme  would  await  us;  we  might  then 
look  forward  to  a  number  of  interesting  distinctions  and  to 
much  that  would  be  valuable.  So  far  as  our  special  problem  is 
concerned,  however,  a  full  thousand  years  offer  nothing  new. 
The  views  of  life  of  the  mediaeval  thinkers  borrow  their  ma- 
terial from  earlier  ages;  such  characteristic  combinations  as  are 
presented  rather  serve  to  express  the  historical  conditions  than 
to  contribute  anything  of  permanent  value.  It  is,  accordingly, 
our  privilege,  indeed  our  duty,  to  epitomise. 

The  first  centuries  of  the  Middle  Ages  chiefly  follow  Neo- 
Platonism  in  philosophy.  In  addition  to  the  sources  already 
mentioned,  there  are,  by  way  of  conclusion,  two  others:  the 
treatise  of  Boethius  (d.  525),  on  the  consolation  of  philosophy 
(de  consolatione  philosophies],  a  philosophical  devotional  book 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  249 

for  the  cultivated,  and  the  works  of  the  Pseudo  Dionysius  (un- 
doubtedly of  the  fifth  century).  Boethius's  De  consolatione  pos- 
sesses more  refinement  and  distinction  than  strength  and 
warmth.  The  thinker  is  filled  with  the  worthlessness  of  every- 
thing earthly  and  sensuous;  he  rises  to  the  supersensuous  es- 
sence and  at  the  same  time  to  the  universal  point  of  view;  he 
finds  solace  in  the  thought  that  with  such  a  change  everything 
becomes  rational  and  evil  dissolves  in  mere  appearance. 

Dionysius  concerned  himself  more  with  the  whole  social 
order;  his  essentially  Neo-Platonic  wisdom  was  accepted  by  the 
Middle  Ages  as  a  revelation  of  the  profoundest  Christian  truth, 
sanctioned  by  Apostolic  authority.  As  the  essence  of  Christian- 
ity, there  appears  here  the  Neo-Platonic  idea  of  a  going  out  and 
return  of  God  to  Himself;  the  world  is  nothing  but  an  eternal 
cycle  of  divine  love.  The  historical  becomes  a  symbol  of  the 
eternal,  the  human  a  symbol  of  the  cosmic  and  divine.  The 
tone  of  life  becomes  dreamy  and  wistful;  the  Christianity  of 
the  Church  is  influenced  in  two  important  points.  By  trans- 
planting to  ecclesiastical  Christianity  the  Neo-Platonic  concep- 
tion of  an  unbroken  gradation  of  beings,  a  procession  of  life 
from  higher  to  lower,  the  thought  of  an  hierarchy  surpassing  that 
of  Augustine  is  developed  and  established,  first  the  heavenly, 
and  then  its  likeness,  the  earthly,  hierarchy.  Further,  by  a  phil- 
osophical development  of  a  tendency  of  the  age,  this  system 
fused  sensuous  and  supersensuous  in  such  a  way  that  the  sen- 
suous appears  now  as  a  mere  reflection  of  the  spiritual,  now  as 
inseparably  united  with  it;  this  had  the  result  of  conferring 
upon  acts  of  worship,  particularly  the  sacraments,  the  character 
of  mysteries,  and  consequently  of  greatly  increasing  their  im- 
portance. The  two  chief  pillars  of  the  mediaeval  ecclesiastical 
system — the  hierarchy  and  the  sacraments — here  plainly  exhibit 
their  ancient  basis. 

As  the  means  of  introducing  Dionysius  in  the  Occident,  we 
may  mention  particularly  Scotus  Erigena  (ninth  century).  He 
manifests  a  fresher  sense  of  life  than  is  seen  at  the  close  of  an- 
tiquity; and  the  grounding  of  all  existence  in  God  had  the  effect 


250  CHRISTIANITY 

of  again  making  the  world  and  nature  more  important,  in  fact, 
of  preparing  the  way  for  a  radical  pantheism.  The  last  conse- 
quences of  this  view,  however,  were  not  apparent  until  centuries 
later,  and  then  its  rejection  by  the  Church  was  inevitable. 

Nowhere  upon  the  soil  of  the  Middle  Ages  proper  is  an  in- 
tention manifest  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  the  legacy  of  the  past. 
Nevertheless,  certain  changes  take  place,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
some  elements  of  the  inherited  stock  unfold  more  vigorously 
than  the  others,  and  thus  alter  slightly  the  aspect  of  the  whole. 
These  developments,  however,  are  twofold,  and  take  opposite 
directions:  on  the  one  hand,  more  intelligent  insight  is  de- 
manded; on  the  other,  more  sympathetic  appropriation.  The 
former  movement  begins,  in  particular,  with  Anselm,  of  Can- 
terbury (1033-1109).  He  endeavours  to  find  a  theoretical  basis 
for  the  truths  of  faith,  not  in  order  to  make  them  more  accept- 
able by  demonstration,  but  only  to  analyse  more  clearly  the 
acknowledged  truth.  But  when  fundamental  questions,  such 
as  the  existence  of  God  and  the  Incarnation,  once  become  mat- 
ters of  theoretical  discussion,  the  inevitable  result  is  an  inner 
change,  a  rationalising  of  the  traditional  doctrine.  Moreover, 
the  theoretical  interest,  once  aroused,  cannot  always  be  so 
easily  satisfied  as  it  is  with  Anselm. 

In  fact,  it  was  intensified  to  the  point  of  open  conflict  in  the 
case  of  Abelard,  the  brilliant  dialectician  (1079-1142).  In  him 
the  subjective  tendency  breaks  forth  with  striking  freedom  and 
vigour;  already  there  appears  that  freshness  of  feeling  and  flex- 
ibility of  thought  by  which  the  French  mind  has  done  so  much 
to  clear  away  the  rubbish  of  the  past  and  to  win  for  the  present 
a  life  of  its  own. 

Abelard  does  not  bow  in  awe  and  reverence  before  the  tra- 
ditional doctrines  of  religion;  he  makes  them  an  object  of 
ceaseless  reflection  and  discussion;  he  displays  his  dialectical 
power  even  upon  the  most  difficult  of  the  dogmas.  In  a  highly 
noteworthy  treatise  he  has  a  philosopher,  a  Jew,  and  a  Chris- 
tian engage  in  an  argument  concerning  ultimate  questions,  and 
find  that  they  are  much  nearer  to  one  another  than  at  first  ap- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  251 

peared:  he  makes  investigation,  indeed  doubt,  honourable,  in 
accordance  with  the  view  that  "through  doubt  we  come  to  in- 
vestigation, and  through  investigation  to  the  truth";  he  looks 
upon  authority  only  as  a  provisional  substitute  for  reason,  and 
sharply  criticises  the  many  for  calling  that  one  firm  in  the  faith 
who  does  not  rise  above  the  average  opinion,  and  for  condemn- 
ing and  denouncing  things  of  which  they  are  ignorant,  and  for 
declaring  that  to  be  folly  and  nonsense  which  they  do  not  com- 
prehend. 

The  content  of  his  doctrines  corresponds  to  this  rationalistic 
turn  of  mind.  With  Abelard,  morality  forms  the  essence  of  re- 
ligion; Christianity  has  not  offered  something  new  and  anti- 
thetical, it  merely  represents  the  culmination  of  a  general  move- 
ment. Besides  this,  it  has  united  what  was  dispersed,  cleared 
up  what  was  obscure,  and  communicated  to  all  what  was  previ- 
ously accessible  only  to  a  few.  Jesus  is  reverenced  as  the 
founder  of  a  pure  moral  law.  In  Christianity,  too,  let  no  lan- 
guid inaction  reign.  Abelard  finds  it  "remarkable  that  while 
throughout  the  periods  of  life  and  the  succession  of  the  ages 
human  insight  into  all  created  things  increases,  in  faith,  where 
error  is  particularly  dangerous,  no  progress  takes  place.  The 
cause  of  this  must  surely  be  the  fact  that  it  is  not  free  to  any  one 
openly  to  investigate  the  question  what  ought  to  be  believed, 
nor  with  impunity  to  express  doubt  concerning  what  is  affirmed 
by  all."  In  morals,  however,  Abelard  brings  about  a  transition 
from  the  mediaeval  to  the  modern  point  of  view,  inasmuch  as 
he  gives  full  recognition  to  the  individual  subject,  and  makes 
the  agent's  own  conviction  and  conscience  the  thing  of  chief 
importance  in  conduct. 

Thus  we  see  a  new  spirit  arise,  which  must  necessarily  be  in 
sharp  conflict  with  the  environment.  But  Abelard's  vitalising 
of  the  inherited  substance,  his  demand  for  a  theoretical  illumi- 
nation and  more  skilful  adjustment  of  the  articles  of  faith,  was 
certain  also  to  affect  his  opponents.  As  a  pupil  of  Abelard  we 
should  name  Peter  the  Lombard;  but  Thomas  Aquinas,  the 
head  and  front  of  scholasticism,  also  stood  in  close  relation 


252  CHRISTIANITY 

to  Peter.  As  has  often  happened  in  the  history  of  religions,  so 
here  orthodoxy  appropriates  and  uses  for  its  own  ends  the 
weapons  which  rationalism  has  prepared. 

Still  more  dangerous  was  the  tendency  toward  a  merely  emo- 
tional assimilation  of  doctrine,  which  found  its  expression  in 
mysticism.  Here  likewise  the  tendency  first  appeared  on  eccle- 
siastical ground  and  was  wholly  in  sympathy  with  the  Church 
(Bernhard  of  Clairvaux  and  the  Victorines).  But  very  soon 
arose  a  radical  pantheism  (Amalrich  of  Bena),  the  spread  of 
which  the  Church  was  enabled  to  prevent  only  by  the  most 
rigorous  means.  Life  as  a  whole  was  obviously  in  need  of  a  new 
synthesis;  to  have  achieved  this,  according  to  the  genius  of  the 
age  and  with  the  means  it  afforded,  constitutes  the  chief  service 
rendered  by  scholasticism  at  its  zenith. 

(b)  The  Culmination  of  the  Middle  Ages* 

The  needed  synthesis,  the  chief  work  of  scholasticism,  is  no 
mere  product  of  formal  learning  and  subtle  ingenuity;  called 
forth  by  the  urgent  demands  of  universal  historical  conditions, 
it  is  itself  an  achievement  of  universal  historical  significance. 
Serious  dangers  to  the  traditional  faith  of  the  Christian  Church 
arose  from  two  sources;  on  the  one  hand,  mysticism,  in  view  of 
the  emphasis  it  laid  on  the  immediacy  of  feeling,  threatened  to 
dissipate  the  content  of  faith  and  to  destroy  the  organisation  of 
the  Church;  on  the  other,  the  conflict  between  knowledge  and 
faith  grew  to  alarming  proportions  when,  subsequent  to  the 
twelfth  century,  all  of  the  Aristotelian  writings  gradually  be- 
came known  in  the  Occident.  The  early  Middle  Ages  possessed 
only  the  logical  treatises;  and  it  must  have  had  the  effect  of  a 
momentous  discovery,  and  must  have  profoundly  stirred  the 
minds  of  all  scholars,  when  by  the  remarkably  devious  path  of 
the  Mahometan  world  and  Spain  Aristotle's  immeasurably  rich 
and  carefully  elaborated  system  finally  reached  the  Christian 
Occident.  The  shock  was  accentuated  by  the  circumstance 
that  Averroes,  the  chief  of  Mahometan  Aristotelians,  formu- 

*  See  Appendix  H. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  253 

lated  the  relation  of  knowledge  and  faith  in  a  manner  which 
Christianity  as  well  as  Mahometanism  was  unable  to  accept 
Knowledge  he  developed  without  regard  to  religion;  and  at  the 
same  time,  under  the  influence  of  Neo-Platonism,  he  inter- 
preted Aristotle  variously  as  pantheistic.  Wholly  without  medi- 
ation there  follows  the  introduction  of  faith;  its  truths  are  to 
be  blindly  accepted  on  authority  as  a  command  of  God,  how- 
ever flatly  they  may  contradict  the  results  of  investigation. 
Thus  we  have  the  well-known  doctrine  of  a  twofold  truth,  in 
accordance  with  which  that  may  be  false  in  theology  which  is 
true  in  philosophy,  and  vice  versa;  thus  there  is  an  inner  cleav- 
age in  men's  minds,  and  the  danger  that  to  outsiders  the  world 
of  faith  may  seem  to  be  accepted  on  external  grounds  and  to 
lack  internal  truth.  None  the  less,  this  definite  separation  of 
the  two  spheres,  which  must  have  been  particularly  welcome  to 
acute  minds,  penetrated  also  into  Christianity.  Its  chief  rep- 
resentative in  the  thirteenth  century  was  Siger  of  Brabant, 
whose  history  has  been  but  recently  cleared  up.  His  writings 
possess  a  lucid  style  and  show  precision  of  thought.  Dante's 
honourable  mention  of  him,  which  was  inspired  by  deep  feel- 
ing, of  itself  insures  him  a  lasting  fame.  The  representatives  of 
the  Church  were  thrown  by  this  intrusion  of  Aristotelianism  into 
an  awkward  position.  Its  intellectual  power,  the  wealth  of  its 
material,  but  especially  the  perfection  of  its  scientific  technique, 
could  not  be  ignored;  "as  in  the  case  of  the  discovery  of  new 
weapons,  no  one  thereafter  could  fight  without  making  use  of 
them"  (Seeberg).  At  the  same  time,  those  of  the  older  way  of 
thinking,  the  minds  particularly  dominated  by  Augustine  and 
Plato,  felt  that  in  Aristotle  and  his  elaboration  of  concepts  a 
foreign  element  was  intruding  itself  into  Christianity  and  en- 
dangering its  distinctive  character;  a  rationalising  dissolution  of 
the  traditional  content  of  faith  seemed  to  lie  near  at  hand.  The 
solution  of  the  conflict  came  through  the  development  of  a 
Christian  Aristotelianism,  particularly  by  Albert  the  Great  and 
still  more  by  Thomas  Aquinas — an  Aristotelianism  which  under- 
took at  once  to  preserve  the  superiority  of  Christianity  and  to 


254  CHRISTIANITY 

utilise  the  proffered  wealth  of  Aristotle.  The  concept  of  grada- 
tion became  the  means  whereby  knowledge  and  faith,  the  world 
of  nature  and  the  kingdom  of  grace,  were  brought  into  a  close 
union.  This  new  Aristotelianism  could  not  make  any  headway 
without  coming  into  conflict  with  that  of  Averroes.  The  two,  in 
fact,  came  into  violent  collision  shortly  after  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century  at  the  University  of  Paris,  then  the  focus  of 
the  intellectual  interests  of  Christendom.  That  the  conciliatory 
movement  won  the  victory  created  no  little  danger  for  both  sci- 
ence and  religion;  but  it  was  in  harmony  with  the  urgent  de- 
mands of  the  general  situation.  For  only  such  a  movement 
could  satisfy  the  characteristic  mediaeval  demand  for  order  and 
organisation,  and  prevent  inner  decay.  However  inadequate, 
owing  to  the  profound  changes  which  have  taken  place,  that 
solution  has  become  for  us  to-day,  for  the  age  in  question  it  was 
indisputably  of  great  importance.  The  capacity  here  mani- 
fested by  the  Church  to  annex  movements  which  threatened  to 
become  dangerous  showed  itself  also  in  the  case  of  mysticism, 
which  was  not  rejected,  but  placed  where  it  appeared  it  could 
do  no  harm  and  only  be  of  service.  Out  of  it  all  arose  a  com- 
prehensive synthesis  of  life  which  has  exerted,  and,  in  spite  of 
the  changed  conditions  and  the  contradictions,  still  exerts  to- 
day, a  profound  influence  upon  mankind. 

The  historical  appreciation  of  Thomas  (1227-1274)  has  been 
repeatedly  prejudiced  by  the  conflicts  of  the  present  age.  The 
quite  just  rejection,  namely,  of  an  unhistorical  Neo-Thomism 
has  often  caused  the  original  and  genuine  Thomas  to  be  likewise 
depreciated.  While  Thomas  was  not  a  thinker  of  the  first  rank, 
he  was  no  insignificant  mind  and  no  fanatic;  he  did  not  rise  far 
above  his  age,  but  he  brought  together  and  elaborated  whatever 
it  produced,  and  he  did  this  with  great  skill  and  in  a  moderate 
spirit.  That  he  stood  at  the  summit  of  the  intellectual  develop- 
ment of  his  time  is  convincingly  shown  by  Dante's  recognition  of 
him.  That  of  itself  should  silence  all  petty  censoriousness. 

Thomas's  greatness  consists  in  the  upbuilding  and  systematic 
completion  of  an  all-comprehensive  Christian  view  of  the  world 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  255 

he  brought  Christianity  into  closer  relation  to  civilisation  and  to 
science,  and  while  fully  protecting  the  ascendency  of  religion, 
he  also  awarded  to  the  other  departments  of  life  their  respective 
rights.  For  him,  however,  the  fruits  of  civilisation  are  repre- 
sented by  Aristotle,  who,  in  the  totality  of  his  doctrine,  appears 
as  newly  arisen,  and  hence  as  an  entirely  fresh  influence.  Here 
there  was  offered  a  view  of  the  world  of  astonishing  richness  and 
symmetrical  execution;  here  was  a  system  which  presented  a 
definitive  conclusion,  and  nowhere  disturbed  men  with  unset- 
tled questions.  No  wonder  that  it  subdued  the  minds  of  the 
Middle  Ages  with  a  wholly  irresistible  force;  it  offered  them,  in 
fact,  everything  they  could  wish. 

At  the  same  time,  a  serious  problem  here  presents  itself.  To 
adapt  the  Hellenes  to  Christianity,  full  as  they  were  of  the  joy  of 
life  and  wholly  concerned  with  this  world,  was  no  easy  task;  to  us 
moderns,  it  will  appear,  in  fact,  impossible.  But  the  mediaeval 
thinker  found  the  Greek  at  one  with  him  in  an  ideal  estimate  of 
things;  further,  following  the  precedent  of  most  of  the  Arabic 
philosophers,  he  saw  Aristotle  through  the  medium  of  Neo- 
Platonic  ideas,  and  understood  him  in  a  more  inward  and 
religious  sense  than  the  facts  really  allow;  in  particular,  Aris- 
totle's dominant  interest  in  the  sense- world,  and  his  reserve  re- 
specting ultimate  questions,  facilitated  a  rapprochement  with 
Christianity,  so  soon  as  a  graduated  relation  between  the  two 
worlds  had  been  admitted.  Such  a  gradation,  however,  is  the 
leading  thought  of  Thomas.  With  him,  every  sphere  receives  its 
proper  due,  even  the  lower  unfolds  its  peculiar  character  undis- 
turbed by  the  higher.  Thomas  recognises  both  a  distinct  realm 
of  nature  and  an  independent  task  for  natural  knowledge;  and 
he  condemns  all  direct  reference  to  God  in  the  details  of  scien- 
tific questions  as  a  refuge  of  ignorance  (asylum  ignorantice).  But 
the  lower  sphere  must  keep  within  its  bounds,  and  avoid  all  en- 
croachment upon  the  higher.  The  realm  of  nature  sketches  only 
in  outline  what  in  the  realm  of  grace,  the  world  of  historical 
Christianity,  is  further  carried  out  and  finally  established.  Thus, 
e.  £.,  according  to  Thomas,  the  existence  of  God,  the  founda- 


256  CHRISTIANITY 

tion  of  the  world  in  Him,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  are  de- 
monstrable by  mere  reason;  on  the  other  hand,  the  doctrines  of 
the  Trinity,  the  temporal  creation  of  the  world,  and  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  body,  derive  their  authority  from  the  Christian  reve- 
lation. Hence,  subordination  is  coupled  with  the  above  inde- 
pendence, and  the  distinction  of  spheres  with  a  comprehensive 
relationship.  We  are  here  told,  "The  divine  right  does  not  in- 
fract the  human";  "Grace  does  not  destroy  nature,  but  com- 
pletes it  (gratia  naturam  non  tollit,  sed  perficit)";  "reason  is  the 
precursor  of  faith." 

Above  the  realm  of  historical  revelation,  however,  lies  a  still 
higher  stage:  the  immediate  union  with  God  which  mystic 
vision  inaugurates,  the  realm  of  glory  (gloria).  But  this  realm  is 
rather  a  hope  than  a  possession  of  the  earthly  life;  moreover, 
the  way  to  it  necessarily  leads  through  the  ecclesiastical  order; 
of  himself  the  individual  could  not  attain  it.  Finally,  the  whole 
forms  a  single  great  temple :  nature  is  the  vestibule,  grace  leads 
into  the  sanctuary,  a  holy  of  holies  fulfils  every  yearning  and 
discloses  itself  to  the  faithful  in  occasional  solemn  moments  of 
ecstasy. 

But  things  which  fit  together  smoothly  in  a  general  scheme 
often  cause  untold  trouble  and  labour  in  the  details  of  execution. 
Now  there  were  conflicts  to  be  mitigated,  now  lacunae  to  be 
filled.  This  required  an  energetic  and  skilful  employment  of 
logical  tools.  Herein  Thomas  did,  in  fact,  achieve  important 
results;  he  proved  himself  a  master  both  in  the  uniting  of  ap- 
parently distinct  things  by  a  chain  of  syllogisms,  and  in  settling 
contradictions  by  acute  distinctions,  by  pointing  out  the  differ- 
ent meanings  of  concepts. 

This  logical  capacity  also  rendered  a  valuable  service  to  the 
permanence  of  the  Christian  tradition.  The  dogmas,  it  is  true, 
do  not  spring  from  mere  reason;  but,  once  they  have  been  com- 
municated by  God,  they  also  may  become  an  object  of  logical 
treatment.  Thus  arises  the  first  system  of  Christian  moral  the- 
ology; in  particular,  the  ecclesiastical  order  is  carefully  articu- 
lated and  firmly  welded  together.  All  the  minutiae  are  brought 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  257 

into  relation  and  subordinated  to  a  superior  rule;  the  Church 
accordingly  assumes  an  out  and  out  hierarchical  form,  more 
hierarchical  even  than  was  foreshadowed  in  Augustine.  Dif- 
ferent lines  of  thought  here  tend  toward  the  same  goal:  viz.,  the 
demand  that  the  Church  form  a  compact  unity  or  single  body 
(unum  corpus),  the  belief  in  the  progressive  transmission  of  di- 
vine powers  from  higher  to  lower;  finally,  the  assumption,  self- 
evident  for  the  mediaeval  thinker,  that  for  us  there  can  be  no  full 
reality  without  a  visible  embodiment,  and  hence,  likewise,  no  solid 
organisation  without  the  headship  of  a  single  person.  Accor- 
dingly, Thomas  of  necessity  defended  the  concentration  of  eccle- 
siastical power  in  a  single  hand;  and  he  condemned  as  lost  and 
as  meriting  severe  punishment  those  who  withdraw  from  the 
Church  and  perhaps  even  oppose  her.  All  the  independence  of 
the  individual  is  surrendered;  the  Church  becomes  the  con- 
science of  mankind;  moreover,  the  full  development  of  the  doc- 
trine of  purgatory  increases  the  ecclesiastical  power.  At  the 
same  time,  the  secular  pretensions  of  the  Church  are  extended;  it 
now  dominates  all  intellectual  life,  and  enjoys  unconditional  su- 
premacy over  the  state.  Just  as,  throughout  Christendom,  kings 
are  inferior  to  priests,  so  all  the  kings  of  Christian  peoples  must  be 
subject  to  the  Pope,  "  as  to  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  Himself." 

In  spite  of  its  harsh  formulation,  this  principle  does  not  merit 
the  reproach  of  representing  a  lust  for  power;  it  is  not  desire 
for  her  own  prosperity,  but  for  the  welfare  of  the  divine  order, 
and  solicitude  for  the  salvation  of  mankind,  which  give  rise  to 
the  secular  dominion  of  the  Church.  Thomas  himself  is  deeply 
imbued  with  an  ascetic  spirit;  in  agreement  with  his  age,  he 
unhesitatingly  calls  the  Beyond  his  fatherland  (patria),  and 
plainly  longs  for  the  peace  of  a  life  dedicated  solely  to  the  con- 
templation of  God.  But  that  which  more  than  all  else  prevents 
the  Church  from  being  completely  transformed  into  an  ecclesi- 
astical state  is  the  belief  in  the  communication  of  divine  life  and 
divine  love  in  the  sacraments.  In  them  the  efficacy  of  the  pas- 
sion of  Christ  (efficacia  passionis)  is  kept  alive;  the  sacraments 
of  the  new  Covenant  "not  only  denote  but  produce  grace"  (non 


258  CHRISTIANITY 

solum  significant,  sed  causant  gratiam).  Hence  they  become  an 
important  feature  in  a  biographical  sketch  of  Thomas;  in  par- 
ticular, the  system  of  ecclesiastical  order  receives  through  the 
sacraments  a  mystical  background  and  a  religious  spirit. 

Accordingly,  it  is  wholly  intelligible  that  Thomas  became  the 
chief  philosopher  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  that  he  was  promptly 
honoured — as  the  paintings  of  the  time  show — as  the  classical 
interpreter  of  Christian  truth.  The  conception  of  order,  which 
dominated  the  Middle  Ages,  attained  in  him  its  appropriate 
philosophical  expression;  a  great  system  of  life  is  unfolded,  one 
which  recognises  and  holds  firmly  together  all  the  manifold 
problems;  the  horizon  becomes  considerably  enlarged,  and  by 
the  introduction  of  bodies  of  ancient  thought  a  sort  of  renais- 
sance takes  place.  But  of  course  this  approbation  holds  good 
only  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Middle  Ages,  not  from  that  of 
the  present. 

That  Thomas  was  the  most  eminent  mind  of  his  age  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  Dante  takes  him  as  his  starting  point.  Al- 
though we  cannot  here  do  the  great  poet  justice,  we  must  not 
wholly  pass  him  by.  Dante  furnishes  us  with  a  striking  instance 
of  the  truth  that  man  is  not  necessarily  a  mere  product  of  the 
time,  that,  rather,  he  is  capable  of  making  the  whole  scope  and 
content  of  his  age  the  expression  of  a  personality  which  trans- 
cends it,  the  instrument  of  a  search  for  universal  truth.  For 
while  his  world  of  thought,  so  far  as  its  content  is  concerned,  is 
wholly  that  of  the  mediaeval  Church,  in  particular  that  of 
Thomas,  and  he  has  the  appearance  merely  of  accepting  and 
giving  an  artistic  form  to  a  traditional  substance,  the  old  sub- 
stance, here  freshly  fashioned,  really  presents  new  aspects;  in 
fact,  through  the  closer  relation  to  personality  into  which  it  is 
now  brought,  it  becomes  something  essentially  other  and  higher. 
That  is  to  say,  since  the  poet  and  thinker  here  transforms  all 
that  he  appropriates  into  an  intimate  experience  of  his  own 
great  soul,  since  he  gathers  upon  a  single  thread  all  the  endless 
variety  of  the  world,  fashioning  it  into  one  total  vision  seen  by 
mighty  power,  the  infinite  and  varied  fulness  of  the  world  13 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  259 

irresistibly  fused  into  a  closer  unity,  and  instead  of  constituting 
a  bare  skeleton  becomes  instinct  with  spiritual  life.  Henceforth 
the  principal  outlines  of  the  vast  mediaeval  structure  stand  forth 
with  distinctness;  its  important  truths  acquire  a  marvellous  di- 
rectness and  simplicity  without  losing  their  theoretical  justifica- 
tion; indeed,  we  may  say  that  the  mediaeval  world,  which  in 
other  instances  occupied  only  the  detached  thoughts  of  men, 
here  for  the  first  and  only  time  is  completely  encompassed  by 
an  entire  intellectual  life,  inwardly  mastered,  and  so  trans- 
formed into  an  experience  of  the  whole  man.  In  particular,  the 
harsh  contrasts  and  the  motive  forces  of  that  world  here  first 
attain  a  complete  development  and  produce  their  full  effects; 
especially  is  this  true  of  the  ascent  through  stern  negation  to 
blissful  affirmation,  and  of  the  mighty  conflict  between  justice 
and  love,  which  pervades  and  agitates  that  world.  To  trans- 
pose in  such  wise  an  entire  world  into  a  personal  medium  was 
possible  only  for  a  personality  which  combined  great  unifying 
power  with  the  widest  range  of  sensibility,  the  capacity,  namely, 
to  experience  within  itself  the  whole  gamut  of  human  emotion, 
from  sober  earnestness  and  stern  severity  to  inner  tenderness 
and  passionate  love;  a  personality  which,  securely  rooted  in  it- 
self, yet  possessed  the  warmest  sympathy  for  all  the  activity  and 
fortunes  of  men.  And  the  realm  which  the  poet  created  would 
not  have  become  the  permanent  possession  of  mankind,  and 
have  continued  to  exert  its  untold  influence,  had  he  not  been 
endowed  with  the  power  to  give  such  bodily  semblance,  such 
force  and  truth  to  the  creatures  of  his  imagination  that  they 
stand  before  our  eyes,  and  stir  our  love  and  hate,  as  if  they  were 
real.  Thus  Dante  not  only  became  a  support  for  his  people, 
who  also  owed  him  much  for  his  enrichment  of  the  language; 
but  we,  too,  honour  him  as  one  who  added  to  the  intellectual 
possessions  of  mankind.  In  his  own  day  and  generation,  more- 
over, he  penetrated  beyond  all  that  was  merely  temporal  to  the 
eternal  immanent  in  it;  and  for  the  things  that  are  eternal  he 
secured  a  worthy  recognition.  No  one  will  think  meanly  of  the 
Middle  Ages  who  justly  appreciates  Dante. 


260  CHRISTIANITY 

The  Middle  Ages  did  not  come  to  a  standstill  with  Thomas, 
nor  did  they  simply  follow  the  middle  course  mapped  out  by 
him.  Mysticism  was  not  to  be  so  easily  appropriated,  little  as 
the  personal  disposition  of  its  leading  minds  inclined  them  to  a 
conflict  with  the  Church.  And  soon  the  attempt  was  made  to 
formulate  the  relation  of  knowledge  and  faith  in  a  different  way 
from  that  of  Thomas;  and  from  this  attempt  arose  another  type 
of  life.  In  general,  the  Middle  Ages  show  far  more  variety  and 
far  more  movement  than  it  is  customary,  even  at  present,  to  as- 
cribe to  them. 

The  head  of  mysticism,  and  its  supreme  speculative  mind, 
was  Meister  Eckhart  (d.  1327),  a  magician  in  the  use  of  words, 
and  the  creator  of  the  philosophical  terminology  of  the  German 
tongue.  In  his  views  as  a  whole,  it  is  not  his  aim  to  separate 
himself  from  scholasticism  and  Thomas  Aquinas;  and  even  his 
mysticism  offers  little  as  to  its  concepts  that  is  new  to  any  one 
familiar  with  the  historical  connections;  it  contains  the  same 
interweaving  of  logical  abstraction  and  religious  emotion  which 
fascinated  so  many  minds  subsequent  to  Plotinus;  and  it  is  ex- 
posed to  the  same  danger,  namely,  that  of  sacrificing  all  content 
and  of  losing  itself  in  formlessness  the  moment  that  it  relin- 
quishes its  hold  upon  the  definite  and  the  particular.  But  this 
mediaeval  thinker,  sprung  from  a  new  racial  type,  possesses 
more  freshness  and  immediacy  of  feeling,  more  joyfulness  of 
mood,  and  more  simplicity  of  expression,  than  was  to  be  found 
in  declining  antiquity;  moreover,  he  possesses  a  marvellous 
rbility  to  give  form  and  fashion  and  palpable  reality  to  the  in- 
comprehensible. We  will  linger  with  him  a  little  longer,  since 
no  other  thinker  of  that  time  is  capable  to-day  of  so  direct  an 
influence. 

Eckhart's  mysticism  has  a  simple  intellectual  framework. 
God  does  not  emerge  from  the  mere  essence,  the  "abyss,"  of 
His  nature  into  living  reality  without  expressing  Himself;  by 
expressing  Himself,  He  creates  things;  hence,  He  alone  is  the 
reality  in  all  things.  All  error  and  depravity  come  from  God's 
creatures  seeking  to  be  something  on  their  own  account;  all 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  261 

salvation  lies  in  complete  absorption  in  God.  To  man,  as  the 
thinking  soul,  is  assigned  the  task  of  leading  the  world  back 
to  God;  hence  God  Himself  cannot  do  without  man. 

Accordingly,  the  return  of  the  soul  to  God,  to  whom  its  whole 
being  belongs,  and  the  elimination  of  all  egoistic  demands  for  hap- 
piness, become  the  essence  of  life;  there  is  engendered  an  ener- 
getic struggle  against  an  obstinate  clinging  to  the  individuality 
of  the  ego,  and  for  a  large  and  free  growth  of  man's  nature  out 
of  the  infinitude  of  the  Divine  life.  Whoever  demands  a  recom- 
pense for  his  labour  is  like  the  money-changers  whom  Jesus 
drove  from  the  temple;  the  truth,  however,  "covets  no  trade." 
Whoever  seeks  anything  for  himself  possesses  no  true  love 
toward  God.  For,  "if  I  had  a  friend,  and  loved  him  in  order 
that  he  might  bring  good  to  me  and  do  my  will,  then  I  should 
not  love  my  friend  but  myself."  Likewise,  selfishness  and  van- 
ity in  religion  are  illuminated  with  unsparing  brightness.  "  The 
true  life  does  not  consist  in  our  being  all  sweet  words  and  holy 
demeanour,  in  our  having  a  great  appearance  of  sanctity,  in  our 
name  being  borne  far  and  wide,  in  our  being  greatly  loved  by 
God's  friends,  in  our  being  so  pampered  and  coddled  by  God 
that  it  seems  to  us  that  God  has  forgotten  all  his  creatures  save 
ourselves  alone,  and  that  we  imagine  that  whatever  we  ask  of 
Him  will  forthwith  be  granted.  No,  not  that;  what  God  requires 
of  us  is  something  quite  different." 

In  truth,  the  thing  is  to  destroy  every  appearance  of  individual 
being,  and  thus  to  eradicate  all  selfishness.  The  principal  means 
is  suffering,  not  merely  outward  but  above  all  inward  suffering. 
Outward  suffering,  namely,  "does  not  make  man  patient, 
rather  it  merely  shows  whether  he  is  patient,  just  as  fire  shows 
whether  the  coin  is  silver  or  copper."  True  suffering,  on  the 
contrary,  "  is  the  mother  of  all  virtue,  for  it  so  weighs  down  man's 
heart  that  he  cannot  stand  erect  in  the  presence  of  arrogance, 
and  therefore  must  be  humble.  But  the  highest  pinnacle  of 
exaltation  lies  in  the  deepest  abyss  of  humility;  the  deeper  the 
abyss,  the  higher  the  altitude;  the  height  and  depth  are  one." 
Man  must  be  brought  to  a  spiritual  destitution,  such  that  he 


262  CHRISTIANITY 

wants  nothing  for  himself,  knows  nothing  and  has  nothing; 
everything  must  be  destroyed  "which  lives  for  its  own  will  and 
own  use,  or  for  any  will." 

But  to  such  a  depreciation  of  the  merely  human  in  man,  there 
corresponds  an  exaltation  through  absorption  in  the  Divine 
nature.  "  The  spirit  dies  being  wholly  absorbed  in  the  miracle 
of  the  Deity.  For  in  the  unity,  it  possesses  no  distinctness;  the 
personal  loses  its  name  in  the  unity;  God  takes  the  soul  into 
Himself,  as  the  sun  draws  into  itself  the  morning  glow."  Then 
is  the  word  fulfilled:  "Blessed  are  they  that  die  in  the  Lord." 
For,  in  the  re-birth  from  God,  the  spirit  receives  a  share  in  the 
whole  plenitude  of  the  Divine  life:  "If  I  am  blessed,  all  things 
are  in  me;  and  where  I  am,  there  God  is:  so  I  am  in  God;  and 
where  God  is,  there  am  I."  All  egoistic  enjoyment  is  now  so 
far  repressed  that  it  can  be  said:  "Whoever  has  once  been 
touched  by  the  truth,  and  by  justice,  and  by  goodness,  that  man 
could  never  for  a  moment  turn  aside  from  them,  even  though 
all  the  pains  of  hell  followed  in  their  train." 

Such  a  life  can  unfold  itself  only  in  the  deepest  inwardness, 
in  a  coherent  unity  of  being  transcending  all  the  diversity  of 
powers  and  achievements.  If  the  soul  would  find  "peace  and 
freedom  of  heart  in  a  silent  repose,"  it  must  "call  all  its  powers 
home  again  and  withdraw  them  from  scattered  things  into  an 
inner  activity."  Thus  there  develops,  apart  from  all  contact 
with  the  outward  world,  a  profoundly  inward  life  of  the  heart; 
even  the  word  Gemiti  (the  heart,  as  the  seat  of  the  affections  and 
will)  received  from  Eckhart  its  peculiar  shade  of  meaning. 

Then  there  arises  a  struggle  for  the  full  immediacy  of  the  re- 
ligious life,  a  rejection,  or  at  least  diminution,  of  all  outward 
mediation.  God  is  not  far  from  us;  "Thou  mayest  not  seek 
Him  here  or  there;  He  is  not  farther  from  thee  than  the  door  of 
thy  heart;  there  He  stands  and  waits;  whomsoever  He  finds 
ready,  will  open  to  Him  and  let  Him  in."  Likewise,  the  work  of 
Christ  means  no  outward  vicarious  agency,  which  relieves  us  of  re- 
sponsibility; we  should  all  become  what  he  was.  "It  avails  me 
not  to  have  a  perfect  Brother;  I  must  become  perfect  myself." 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  263 

But,  Jesus  "has  been  a  messenger  from  God  to  us,  and  has 
brought  us  our  salvation;  and  the  salvation  which  he  brought 
us  was  ours."  His  example  should  make  our  pains  light;  for 
"the  good  knight  complains  not  of  his  wounds,  when  he  looks 
upon  his  king,  who  is  wounded  with  him." 

With  such  a  belief,  the  fear  of  God  as  a  just  judge  yields  to 
the  nobler  feelings  of  love  and  trust.  Man  ought  not  to  fear 
God;  this  alone  is  the  right  fear,  that  one  fears  to  lose  God. 
We  ought  not  to  be  vassals  but  friends  of  God.  True,  man  is 
full  of  sins;  but,  "what  a  drop  is  to  the  sea,  that  the  sins  of  all 
men  are  to  the  boundless  goodness  of  God." 

Finally,  there  is  here  an  eager  impulse  to  declare  to  the  world 
the  riches  of  the  new  life  by  active  doing:  "when  a  man  exer- 
cises himself  in  the  contemplative  life,  he  cannot  bear  the  sheer 
wealth  of  it,  he  must  pour  it  forth  and  exercise  himself  in  the 
active  life."  But  since  the  whole  world  is  now  a  reflection  of  the 
Divine  nature,  there  is  no  room  for  a  harsh  opposition  between 
sacred  and  profane,  spiritual  and  worldly;  the  right  disposition 
can  possess  God  in  even-day  life  and  in  intercourse  with  men, 
quite  as  securely  as  in  a  desert  waste  or  in  a  cell.  The  unassum- 
ing, thoughtful  work  of  man  for  man  takes  precedence  of  all 
else;  the  simplest  acts  of  helpful  love  are  better  than  all  pious 
enthusiasm.  Martha,  who  manifested  toward  Jesus  self-sacri- 
ficing care,  is  thought  to  be  more  worthy  than  Mary,  who  lis- 
tened to  His  words;  a  master  of  living  (Lebemeister)  is  worth  a 
thousand  reading  masters  (Lesemeister).  Indeed,  "were  one 
caught  up  into  the  third  heaven,  like  Paul,  and  should  see  a 
poor  man  who  begged  a  broth  of  him,  it  were  better  that  he  leave 
his  ecstasy  and  serve  the  needy  man."  Accordingly,  specifically 
religious  works  here  lose  their  distinctive  value.  Of  prayer  we 
are  told:  "The  heart  is  not  made  pure  by  outward  prayer,  but 
prayer  becomes  pure  from  a  pure  heart."  Worshippers  of  relics 
are  accosted  with :  "  What  seek  ye,  people,  with  the  dead  bones  ? 
Why  seek  ye  not  the  living  shrine,  that  it  may  give  you  eternal 
life  ?  For  the  dead  hath  neither  to  give  nor  to  take."  Particu- 
larly objectionable  is  the  confining  all  men  to  a  single  order;  for 


264  CHRISTIANITY 

all  have  not  the  same  way  pointed  out  to  them:  "what  is  life  to 
one  man  is  death  to  another."  The  one  essential  point  is  that 
everything  be  done  from  love;  it  is  "the  strongest  of  all  bonds, 
and  yet  a  sweet  burden."  "He  who  has  found  this  way,  let  him 
seek  no  other."  "But  where  more  love  dwells,  no  one  knows; 
that  lies  hidden  in  the  soul." 

In  the  intention  of  Eckhart,  all  this  should  fall  within  the 
ecclesiastical  order,  and  not  work  against  it;  it  possesses  no  re- 
pellant  and  excluding  force,  as  was  later  the  case  with  Luther; 
the  accentuation  to  the  point  of  an  Either — Or  was  still  wanting. 
Yet  there  is  here  developed  in  its  fullest  strength  a  force  tending 
to  intensify  life  and  make  it  more  sincere,  to  free  it  from  the  ego- 
istic demand  for  happiness,  as  well  as  from  all  outward  forms 
and  merely  outward  acts:  there  is  here  much,  in  fact,  which  is 
broader  and  freer  than  in  the  case  of  Luther. 

From  the  outset  the  system  of  Thomas  encountered  the  op- 
position of  those  who,  in  accordance  with  the  distinguishing 
trait  of  the  older  movement,  attached  themselves  to  Augustine 
and  Plato,  who  regarded  the  development  of  Christian  thought 
under  the  influence  of  Aristotle  as  too  rationalistic  and  too  de- 
pendent upon  the  dialectical  elaboration  of  concepts,  and  in  op- 
position thereto  emphasised  the  importance  of  facts,  and  the  pri- 
macy of  the  will,  as  practical  religious  interests.  This  movement 
had  its  principal  seat  in  England,  particularly  at  Oxford;  here 
also  was  found  the  man  who  brought  the  movement  to  its  cul- 
mination, and  first  opposed  to  Thomism  a  fully  mature  system, 
viz.,  Duns  Scotus,  the  acutest  mind  of  the  Middle  Ages  (d.  1308). 
His  relation  to  Thomas  is  often  compared  with  that  of  Kant  to 
Leibniz;  while  laying  increased  demands  upon  rational  proof, 
he  greatly  restricted  the  domain  of  rational  knowledge,  and 
stoutly  resisted  the  transformation  of  theology  into  philosophy. 
Like  Kant,  he  directed  his  attack  not  so  much  against  the  con- 
tent of  truths  as  against  their  customary  proofs  and  formulae. 
In  theology,  he  upheld  the  primacy  of  the  will  and  of  practice  as 
opposed  to  theory;  theology  therefore  he  calls  practical  knowl- 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  265 

edge,  just  as  faith  is  a  practical  attitude.  He  appeals  to  the 
revelations  made  by  the  absolutely  free  will  of  God;  he  is  not 
concerned  with  necessity,  but  with  the  "contingent."  Through- 
out, the  will  has  attributed  to  it  a  decided  pre-eminence  over  the 
intellect,  and  at  the  same  time  a  freedom  of  decision  amounting 
to  unmotived  choice.  Just  as  religion  here  becomes  wholly 
positive,  so  in  general,  individuality  is  viewed  as  something 
positive,  which  cannot  be  deduced  from  a  general  notion.  And 
this  undeducible  individuality  does  not  appear,  as  it  easily 
might  to  the  Aristotelians,  as  something  incidental  or  even  ob- 
structive, but  as  the  highest  perfection  of  being.  The  shifting 
from  a  rational  to  a  positive  mode  of  thought  is  clearly  manifest 
in  the  following  antithesis:  according  to  Thomas,  God  com- 
mands the  good  because  it  is  good,  while  according  to  Scotus, 
the  good  is  good  because  God  commands  it.  It  is  significant  of 
the  scientific  character  of  the  latter's  work  that  the  trend  toward 
positivism  was  not  the  result  of  opposition  to  dialectic,  but  that, 
on  the  contrary,  it  accompanied  an  improvement  in  its  technique 
and  a  great  display  of  acumen  and  dialectical  skill.  In  partic- 
ular, the  power  of  conceptual  analysis  here  reached  its  zenith; 
no  heed  was  paid  to  the  charm  of  linguistic  forms.  Distinctions 
of  permanent  importance  were  drawn,  and  philosophical  termi- 
nology was  enriched  and  made  more  precise  in  manifold  ways. 
Every  cultivated  man  daily  uses  expressions  which  go  back  to 
Duns  Scotus.  At  the  same  time,  however,  the  danger  of  subtle 
hairsplitting  and  empty  quibbling  about  words  lies  near  at  hand. 
So  it  happened  that  to  later  thinkers,  e.  g.,  to  Erasmus,  Scotus 
could  appear  -as  the  typical  representative  of  an  unfruitful  scho- 
lasticism. This  was  possible,  indeed,  only  because  the  sense  for 
the  problems  which  dominated  the  thought  and  productive 
activity  of  this  most  singular  man  was  extinguished. 

(c)  The  Later  Middle  Ages 

In  the  further  course  of  the  Middle  Ages  there  was  a  disso- 
lution of  those  intellectual  relations  whose  production  had  con- 
stituted the  work  of  its  period  of  culmination.  So-called  Nom- 


266  CHRISTIANITY 

inalism,  whose  principal  representative  was  William  of  Occam 
(c.  i28o-toward  1350),  pursued  still  further  the  direction  taken 
by  Duns  Scotus,  by  denying  the  existence  of  universals,  re- 
stricting man  solely  to  subjective  notions,,  and  refusing  him  any 
access  to  things.  But  all  possibility  of  a  scientific  basis  for 
faith  disappears  at  the  same  time :  faith  is  rather  to  be  accepted 
simply  as  a  fact,  just  as  the  Church  transmits  it;  and  the  latter 
here  appeals  directly  to  the  Bible.  In  the  end,  everything  de- 
pends upon  the  omnipotence  and  arbitrary  will  of  God.  The 
irony  of  fate,  however,  shows  us  this  devotee  of  the  principle  of 
authority  engaged  in  a  bitter  conflict  with  actually  constituted 
authority.  The  ideal  of  absolute  poverty,  not  only  of  the  indi- 
vidual members  of  the  order  but  of  the  order  itself — an  ideal 
which  he  had  embraced  with  the  utmost  fervour,  he  sees  rejected 
by  the  Pope;  and  he  is  led  by  this  conflict  into  an  increasingly 
severe  censure,  not  only  of  the  Pope  individually,  but  of  the  Pa- 
pacy and  of  its  pretensions  to  temporal  power;  at  the  same  time 
he  becomes  a  champion  of  the  independence  of  the  state  and  of 
the  empire.  "  The  sacredness  of  poverty  converted  him  into  an 
opponent  of  the  Papacy  and  a  champion  of  the  independence  of 
the  state"  (Seeberg).  But,  notwithstanding  an  unswerving  de- 
votion to  these  ideals  throughout  his  life,  as  to  immediate  results 
he  attained  practically  nothing.  Yet  his  scientific  turn  of  mind 
dominated  the  thinking  of  more  than  a  century,  and,  in  certain 
essential  respects,  prepared  the  way  for  the  Reformation;  in 
fact,  Luther  calls  himself  an  Occamist,  and  venerates  Occam 
as  his  "dear  master." 

For  our  purposes,  those  works  of  the  later  Middle  Ages  which 
reflect  a  more  moderate  and  practical  mysticism,  are  of  more 
immediate  importance.  Above  all,  the  famous  devotional  book 
of  Thomas  a  Kempis  (d.  1471),  the  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  ex- 
erted a  kind  of  influence  which  makes  it  necessary  for  us  to  dwell 
upon  it  a  moment,  and  consider  the  grounds  of  its  effect. 

Little  as  this  work  presents  a  connected  view  of  life,  as  a  whole 
it  is  pervaded  by  fundamental  moods  at  once  simple  and  pow- 
erful. We  perceive  a  soul  overwhelmed  by  the  misery  of  the 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  267 

human  lot  and  striving  with  inner  yearning  to  rise  above  it.  All 
longing  is  directed  away  from  the  world  toward  God,  from  the 
Here  to  the  Beyond;  these  are  diametrically  opposed,  so  that 
accepting  the  one  involves  rejecting  the  other;  "the  highest 
wisdom  is  to  rise  to  heaven  through  contempt  for  the  world." 
All  the  content  and  worth  of  life  comes  from  the  relation  to  God ; 
but  the  relation  is  not  to  be  established  by  knowledge,  by  pro- 
found speculation,  of  which  there  is  a  strong  distrust;  rather  it 
is  to  be  established  by  a  personal  re!ation  of  heart  to  heart,  by 
self-sacrificing  devotion  and  love.  The  whole  scale  of  values  is 
determined  by  the  conviction  that  whatever  frees  us  from  the 
world  is  good,  whatever  entangles  us  in  it  is  bad.  Again  there 
arises  a  religious  utilitarianism,  a  restriction  to  what  is  necessary 
to  salvation,  a  process  fatal  among  other  things  to  secular 
knowledge.  The  chief  approach  to  God  is  suffering,  with  its 
power  to  destroy  all  worldly  pleasure;  moreover,  a  solitary  and 
silent  life  (solitudo  et  silentium)  is  enjoined,  likewise  a  willing 
obedience,  a  cheerful  deferring  to  others,  a  mastery  of  self  to 
the  point  of  complete  self-renunciation,  a  continual  remem- 
brance of  death.  "  Man  rises  above  earthly  things  by  two  wings, 
simplicity  and  purity."  This  picture  is  completed  by  the  re- 
quirement of  love,  of  a  constant  helpful  disposition,  and  a  mu- 
tual bearing  of  burdens. 

But  these  sentiments  do  not  apply  to  man  in  the  concrete,  to 
the  living  personality;  detached  from  any  solid  basis,  they  float 
in  the  free  air,  and  lead  off  into  the  indefinite  and  the  abstract. 
For,  all  intimacy  with  men  is  discouraged;  we  should  have  as 
little  intercourse  with  others  as  possible;  we  should  neither 
wish  that  any  one  take  us  to  his  heart,  nor  concern  ourselves 
deeply  with  love  for  individual  men.  Here  we  get  a  glimpse  into 
an  ascetic,  deeply  passionate  mood  of  a  monkish  sort.  That, 
however,  the  heart  cannot  really  love  in  this  abstract  fashion  but 
requires  for  its  affection  a  living  object,  is  evident  even  here; 
for  the  more  feeling  is  detached  from  concrete  human  relations, 
the  more  exclusively  it  concentrates  itself  upon  the  personality 
of  Jesus.  He  alone  is  to  be  loved  pre-eminently  and  on  his 


268  CHRISTIANITY 

own  account;  all  others  only  for  his  sake.  One  should  keep  the 
image  of  Jesus's  life  ever  before  him,  and  make  it  the  pattern  of 
all  his  own  conduct:  the  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  in  love  and  in 
suffering,  in  self-denial  and  in  conquest,  becomes  the  well-spring 
of  human  life. 

But  in  all  this  one  is  concerned  simply  with  personal  salva- 
tion; there  is  no  solicitude  for  mankind  at  large;  social  condi- 
tions are  accepted  as  if  man  had  no  power  to  alter  them.  Even 
within  the  Christian  life,  all  the  emphasis  is  laid  upon  individ- 
ual initiative;  Divine  grace  and  the  ecclesiastical  organisation 
are  presupposed,  yet  the  individual  must  depend  upon  himself 
for  their  appropriation  and  use;  the  final  decision  rests  with 
him.  This  decision  is  not  an  outward  but  an  inward  act;  "he 
who  loves  much,  accomplishes  much";  but,  none  the  less,  it  is 
something  to  be  produced  by  us;  even  the  state  of  the  inner 
life  is  an  achievement  of  the  man  himself.  The  insufficiency 
of  human  conduct  is  not  questioned;  only  the  insufficiency 
means  shortcoming  instead  of  complete  failure;  what  is  needed, 
then,  is  the  supplementing  of  our  capacities,  not  the  regenera- 
tion of  our  nature.  Thus  this  view  of  life  presents  various  cross 
currents;  and  all  its  spiritual  inwardness  cannot  preserve  it 
from  an  unedifying  justification  by  works. 

So,  too,  in  the  treatment  of  the  summum  bonum,  conflicting 
tendencies  appear.  On  the  one  hand,  there  is  a  selfish  desire 
for  happiness;  instead  of  complete  and  entire  renunciation, 
there  is  deferred  enjoyment;  the  present  is  sacrificed,  but  only 
for  the  sake  of  the  future;  service  is  accepted,  but  in  order  later 
to  rule;  temporal  drudgery  is  endured,  but  on  account  of  eter- 
nal bliss.  Amid  all  the  apparent  devotion  and  sacrifice,  it  is  the 
personal  advantage  which  is  kept  in  view;  God  and  Christ  are 
merely  means  to  human  blessedness.  But  this  is  only  one  side 
of  Thomas.  A  no  less  strong  tendency  is  a  disinterested  devo- 
tion to  God ;  here  a  pure  love  for  the  good  and  the  eternal  mani- 
fests itself,  and  finds  expression  in  language  at  once  simple  and 
noble.  "I  would  rather  be  poor  for  Thy  sake,  than  rich  without 
Thee.  I  prefer  to  be  Thy  pilgrim  upon  earth,  to  possessing 


MODERN   CHRISTIANITY  269 

heaven  without  Thee.  For  where  Thou  art,  it  is  heaven;  but 
where  Thou  art  not,  it  is  death  and  hell."  "I  do  not  trouble 
myself  about  what  Thou  givest  apart  from  Thyself,  for  I  seek 
Thine  own  self,  not  Thy  gifts." 

Accordingly,  the  noble  and  the  selfish,  the  sublime  and  the 
petty,  lie  here  side  by  side;  quite  likely,  precisely  this  combina- 
tion contributed  much  to  the  unparalleled  extent  of  the  book's 
acceptance;  for  the  author  who  possesses  much  in  common  with 
the  average  of  mankind,  and  also  the  power  of  elevating  his 
readers,  has  the  best  chance  of  attaining  a  wide  influence. 
Moreover,  in  the  development  of  his  doctrines,  Thomas  often 
frees  himself  entirely  from  the  monkish  point  of  view;  hence 
deep  and  noble  emotions  find  an  expression  which  is  raised 
above  the  strife  of  parties,  and  this  expression  is  so  simple,  so 
felicitous,  so  convincing,  that  every  religious  mind  can  find  re- 
flected therein  its  own  meditations  and  experiences. 

Hence,  persons  of  the  most  diverse  persuasions,  quite  be- 
yond the  pale  of  the  Christian  Church,  have  found  delight  in 
the  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  and  have  drawn  from  it  refreshment 
and  inspiration  for  their  own  lives.  It  is  the  last  work  in  which 
Christianity  in  its  older  form  made  a  universal  appeal. 

C.  MODERN  CHRISTIANITY 
I.    THE  REFORMATION 

Christianity  had  hitherto  experienced  inner  transformations 
hi  abundance  without  these  changes  leading  to  an  abrupt  break 
or  interrupting  the  continuity  of  the  development.  That  matters 
now  took  a  different  course,  and  that  a  new  form  of  Christianity 
arose,  can  hardly  be  explained  by  religion  alone;  the  cause  was 
a  general  change  in  intellectual  and  spiritual  conditions,  in  the 
processes  and  tone  of  life.  Early  Christianity  received  the  im- 
press of  its  distinguishing  features  in  the  fourth  century,  when 
the  peculiar  conditions  of  that  epoch  deeply  influenced  it.  Man- 
kind was  surfeited  and  weary  with  culture;  there  were  no  great 


270  CHRISTIANITY 

ideals  to  guide  and  uplift  work;  in  the  individual,  the  feeling  of 
moral  weakness  predominated;  owing  to  the  enormous  influx 
of  crude  elements,  Christian  life  rapidly  declined.  Moreover, 
the  age  was  oppressed  by  a  harsh  contrast  between  the  spiritual 
and  the  sensuous — a  reaction  consequent  upon  the  refined  sen- 
suousness  in  which  every  decaying  civilisation  issues.  In  such 
a  state  of  things,  the  first  demand  was  to  provide  man  with  a 
firm  foothold  outside  of  himself,  to  free  him  from  doubt,  lift 
him  above  all  final  shortcomings,  protect  him  from  the  storms 
of  life,  and  bring  him  into  the  sure  haven  of  eternal  rest.  The 
longing  of  the  time  was  for  authority  and  for  definitely  settled 
conclusions;  men  sought  to  lighten  their  own  burdens  to  the 
utmost  possible,  and  turned  eagerly  to  the  mysterious,  the  mag- 
ical, the  incomprehensible.  When,  accordingly,  the  dogmas  were 
welded  into  an  unassailable  system,  and  the  objective  order  of 
the  Church  claimed  the  exclusive  privilege  of  providing  salva- 
tion for  all  men,  this  inflexible  system  and  this  claim  precisely 
met  the  condition  and  the  needs  of  the  age;  and  therein  lay 
their  irresistible  power. 

This  movement  was  continued  by  the  Middle  Ages,  and,  at  their 
culminating  point,  a  system  was  created  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  which  stands  as  a  unique  phenomenon,  not  only  within 
Christianity  and  the  sphere  of  religion,  but  within  the  whole  in- 
tellectual history  of  man.  Not  merely  the  individual  adherents, 
but  the  work  of  civilisation  in  all  its  branches  was  annexed  and 
assimilated  by  religion;  on  the  other  hand,  religion  was  ex- 
pected, in  the  formation  of  the  Church,  to  rise  above  all  the 
inadequacy  and  contingency  of  human  conditions,  and  con- 
solidate itself  into  a  thoroughly  independent  empire  of  divine 
powers  and  activities.  This  empire  opposed  to  the  instability 
of  the  rest  of  human  life  the  contrast  of  eternal  truth  held  as  a 
secure  possession,  and  presented  itself  as  the  sole  mediator  be- 
tween man  and  spiritual  and  divine  things;  within  itself,  how- 
ever, it  contained  a  wonderful  reconciliation  of  the  contradic- 
tions between  which  human  life  moves,  and  by  which  it  is  con- 
tinually threatened  with  inner  disruption.  This  world  and  the 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  271 

next,  the  sensuous  and  the  spiritual,  were  here  closely  connected 
and  intertwined;  the  accepted  view  of  the  world  was  repre- 
sented by  a  living  community,  and  this  community  was  ele- 
vated and  ennobled  by  the  divine  powers  which  were  imparted 
to  it,  and  which  made  of  it  the  central  point  in  a  great  world- 
wide relationship.  Intellectual  work  and  the  development  of 
power  went  hand  in  hand;  a  great  deal  of  reasoning  was  car- 
ried on  with  rigid  logical  consistency,  but  it  rested  upon  a  super- 
rational,  mystical  basis;  the  rigour  of  the  moral  ideal  was  tem- 
pered by  an  element  of  the  beautiful  borrowed  from  Hellenism, 
while  the  danger  of  falling  into  effeminate  indulgence  was  pre- 
vented by  the  austerity  of  the  moral  order.  Whatever  inequal- 
ities and  contradictions  remained  were  prudently  reconciled  or 
skilfully  concealed,  with  the  aid  of  the  conception  of  hierarch- 
ical gradation. 

Such  an  organisation  of  the  world  and  of  life  no  unpreju- 
diced observer  can  deny  possesses  the  character  of  greatness. 
But,  just  as  this  system  sprang  from  particular  historical  con- 
ditions, so  it  rests  upon  peculiar  presuppositions;  and  whether 
these  are  valid  for  all  ages  and  forever  bind  mankind,  may  very 
well  become  a  matter  of  doubt.  Definitive  conclusions  of  the 
sort  are  admissible  only  where  there  is  a  faith  not  merely  in  an 
eternal  truth  but  in  a  complete  temporal  revelation  of  that  truth, 
and  where  the  course  of  history  promises  no  kind  of  real  ad- 
vancement or  innovation,  where,  accordingly,  life  possesses  in 
its  very  foundations  the  character  of  perfect  stability;  they  are 
further  possible  only  when  the  form  of  religion  they  present 
constitutes  the  normal  type  of  all  religion,  and  nowhere  comes 
into  conflict  with  the  necessary  requirements  of  the  human  soul. 
But  such  a  conflict  is  inevitable,  owing  to  the  fact  that  man,  the 
living  individual,  will  not  in  the  long  run  accept  the  passive  rdle 
here  assigned  to  him.  For,  in  the  above  mediaeval  system,  man 
does  not  find  his  intellectual  centre  of  gravity  in  himself,  in  his 
convictions  and  conscience,  but  in  the  Church  which  embraces 
and  dominates  his  life;  the  system  of  life  is  less  a  consequence 
of  his  activity  than  something  which  is  imposed  upon  him; 


272  CHRISTIANITY 

throughout,  unconditional  submission  and  willing  devotion  are 
required  of  him.  Notwithstanding  all  the  warmth  of  feeling 
and  all  the  diligence  in  pious  works,  the  character  of  freedom, 
joyfulness,  and  independence,  is  wanting;  it  is  the  religion  of 
impotence,  and  of  conscious  impotence.  But  could  such  im- 
potence last  ?  Must  there  not  a  renewal  of  strength  follow,  and 
more  and  more  resist  the  above  tendency  ? 

Such  a  renewal  of  strength  did  take  place:  it  was  not  an 
audacious  presumption  on  the  part  of  individuals,  rather  there 
were  great  changes  in  the  actual  conditions  of  life,  which  once 
more  brought  fresh  power  and  courage  to  mankind,  and  altered 
the  attitude  toward  ultimate  questions.  The  gloomy  and  op- 
pressive influence  of  declining  antiquity  began  to  fade;  new 
peoples  arose,  exulting  in  a  youthful  vigour  which,  at  first  di- 
rected chiefly  to  outward  things,  was  finally  turned  inward  and 
necessarily  brought  about  a  new  intellectual  epoch.  The 
Church,  with  its  tangible  organisation  and  its  strict  discipline, 
had  performed  an  excellent  service  in  educating  the  nations; 
but,  like  every  phase  of  education,  this  also  came  to  an  end;  so 
soon  as  the  state  of  nonage  was  distinctly  felt,  it  became  unen- 
durable; thenceforward,  an  institution  which  had  been  a  source 
of  blessing  through  long  centuries  threatened  to  become  an  un- 
yielding obstruction. 

Even  in  the  Middle  Ages,  sentiments  and  movements  of  the 
kind  were  already  manifest;  but  the  new  impulse  did  not  attain 
self -consciousness  until  the  rise  of  the  Renaissance.  Then  minds 
awoke  as  if  from  a  long  sleep;  life  became  more  spontaneous, 
freer  thoughts  of  God  and  the  world,  and  a  belief  in  a  spiritual 
and  divine  life  even  beyond  the  pale  of  ecclesiastical  forms, 
arose  and  created  the  joyful  mood  of  a  fresh  dawn.  Simulta- 
neously, the  eye  was  opened  to  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding 
world,  while  thought  and  reflection  were  captivated  by  the 
wealth  of  natural  objects.  Moreover,  radical  social  changes 
were  inaugurated,  leading  to  new  developments.  The  feudal 
system  was  inwardly  broken;  a  powerful  middle  class  arose, 
and  with  it  the  influence  and  honour  of  the  burgher's  toil  in- 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  273 

creased;  still  other  social  strata  sought  to  rise,  and  demanded 
a  better  standard  of  living.  All  this  finally  led  to  a  change  also 
in  ultimate  beliefs. 

But  this  fresh  impulse,  with  all  its  fulness  of  life,  would  of  itself 
never  have  produced  a  renovation  of  religion;  in  view  of  its  in- 
crease of  man's  power  and  of  his  feeling  of  self-importance,  it 
was  calculated,  rather,  to  divert  him  from  religion.  Religion 
could  triumph  only  if  the  movement  were  transferred  to  its  own 
sphere,  only  in  case  the  progressive  forces  themselves  felt 
a  strong  sense  of  the  need  of  guidance,  only  if  a  sovereign  per- 
sonality appeared  for  whose  soul  the  forms  of  the  Church  offered 
no  peace,  a  personality  powerful  enough  to  penetrate  to  the 
very  foundations  of  our  spiritual  existence  in  order  to  win  that 
peace,  and  courageous  enough  to  carry  out  irresistible  inner  con- 
victions in  the  face  of  a  supreme  existing  order  made  inviolable 
by  the  faith  of  mankind. 

Such  a  personality  appeared  in  Luther:  all  the  spiritual  cur- 
rents that  swept  through  the  Reformation  became  flesh  and 
blood  in  him;  his  masterful  and  concrete  grasp  of  things 
filled  the  whole  movement  with  glowing  life  and  irresistible 
attraction. 

"Between  ourselves,"  Goethe  wrote  to  Knebel,  "there  is 
nothing  interesting  in  the  whole  Reformation  except  the  char- 
acter of  Luther;  and  he,  moreover,  is  the  only  thing  which  made 
an  actual  impression  upon  the  multitude." 

Our  characterisation  of  the  man  refers  particularly  to  the 
period  of  struggle,  which  finds  its  literary  expression  chiefly  in 
the  treatise  on  Christian  freedom  (de  libertate  Christiana). 
Here  and  there  we  shall  draw  also  upon  Melanchthon,  where  he 
has  formulated  the  leading  ideas  with  special  clearness. 

(a)  Luther 

Luther's  principal  change  in  the  mediaeval  system  consisted 
in  transferring  the  religious  problem  in  all  essentials  to  the 
immediate  personal  life  of  the  individual,  and  there  working  it 


274  CHRISTIANITY 

out  in  its  full  scope.  That  does  not  mean  merely  bringing  a 
given  content  somewhat  nearer  to  subjective  feeling;  for  the 
Middle  Ages  were  surely  not  wanting  in  subjective  feeling,  and 
a  change  therein  would  never  have  brought  about  a  revolution 
in  intellectual  life.  The  innovation  consisted  rather  in  bringing 
the  whole  of  transmitted  religion  more  vigorously  to  bear  upon 
man  in  his  total  being,  upon  a  living  unity  of  human  person- 
ality, and  in  measuring  it  by  that  standard;  that  religion  thus 
became  more  an  affair  of  the  whole  man  inevitably  made  it  far 
more  real  and  true  in  itself.  From  this  change  there  resulted  a 
greater  concentration,  a  diversion  of  effort  from  the  widely  ex- 
tended ramifications  of  the  ecclesiastical  structure  to  a  single 
all-dominating  central  point,  and  a  corresponding  elimination, 
or  at  least,  subordination,  of  everything  which  appeared,  in  con- 
trast with  the  main  issue,  as  of  merely  subsidiary  importance. 
Inasmuch  as  this  concentration  forced  into  closer  proximity,  as  it 
were,  the  whole  substance  of  the  religious  world,  the  latent  un- 
rest and  all  the  conflicting  interests  of  Christendom  made  them- 
selves far  more  acutely  felt;  the  struggle  of  the  whole  man  with 
the  whole  of  the  problem  grew  into  a  burden  too  heavy  to  bear; 
at  the  same  time  the  total  inadequacy  of  the  assistance  offered 
by  the  mediseval  system  became  clearly  evident.  Public  and 
personal  religion  could  no  longer  peacefully  tolerate  and  unite 
with  each  other,  as  they  had  done  in  the  Middle  Ages;  rather, 
the  stronger  new  life-process  transformed  the  toleration  of  both 
into  an  alternative.  And  the  choice  between  the  alternatives 
could  not  remain  doubtful.  For,  amid  the  diversity  of  aims,  the 
one  task  of  saving  the  soul,  the  moral  personality,  now  rose  su- 
preme. Since  the  exaltation  of  the  task  meant  demanding  the 
perfect  holiness  of  the  entire  inner  man,  his  salvation  appeared 
to  be  removed  to  an  infinite  distance,  indeed,  to  have  been  made 
absolutely  impossible:  nothing  else  could  avail  in  such  an  ex- 
tremity but  the  highest  Power.  Yet  God  was,  as  it  were,  alien- 
ated from  the  immediate  life  of  man  by  the  mediaeval  system; 
His  place  had  been  taken  by  the  Church  with  its  means  of  grace 
and  good  works.  But  has  not  the  human  thereby  usurped  the  place 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  275 

of  the  Divine  ?  And  can  we  extort  salvation  by  utmost  human 
means,  and  be  sure  of  it,  when  God  is  believed  to  be  angered, 
and  Christ  appears  first  and  foremost  as  Judge  of  the  world  ? 
This  was  the  state  of  things  which  confronted  Luther. 

Hence,  a  passionate  longing  arose  for  immediate  access  to 
God,  a  burning  thirst  for  a  saving  miracle  of  infinite  love  and 
grace.  If  any  such  prospect  of  help  presents  itself,  no  regard 
for  men  or  for  human  ordinances  should  be  allowed  to  prevent 
the  soul  bent  upon  its  eternal  salvation  from  embracing  it.  On 
the  contrary,  we  are  told:  "I  care  not  for  offences;  necessity 
breaks  iron  and  knows  nothing  of  offences.  I  ought  to  spare 
the  weak  conscience,  when  it  can  be  done  without  danger  to  my 
soul.  When  not,  I  ought  to  take  counsel  of  my  soul,  let  it  give 
offence  to  the  whole  or  to  half  the  world." 

This  desired  deliverance  through  the  mediation  of  super- 
human power  has  in  truth,  according  to  Luther,  already  taken 
place;  it  was  brought  about  through  the  offer  of  Divine  grace  in 
Jesus  Christ.  Only  one  thing  is  needful  for  life,  for  justice,  and 
for  Christian  freedom.  That  is  the  most  holy  Word  of  God, 
the  Gospel  of  Christ.  The  content  of  the  glad  tidings  is  the 
proclamation  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  as  brought  about  "by 
the  incarnation,  the  suffering,  the  resurrection,  and  the  trans- 
figuration of  the  Son  of  God."  "We  believe  that  Christ  suffered 
for  us,  and  that  it  is  for  His  sake  that  our  sins  are  forgiven  .and 
that  justice  and  eternal  love  are  bestowed  upon  us.  For,  this 
faith  God  will  accept  as  a  justification  before  Him"  (Augsburg 
Conf.).  Hence,  the  belief  that  it  is  for  Christ's  sake  that  man 
has  a  merciful  and  gracious  God,  and  that  a  miracle  of  love  has 
spanned  the  otherwise  impassable  gulf  and  restored  man  to  the 
state  of  a  child  of  God. 

The  result  is  an  energetic  concentration  of  Christianity,  an 
elevation  of  life  above  all  visible  ties  to  an  immediate  relation  to 
God.  Conformably  to  such  concentration,  the  whole  of  life  be- 
comes subject  to  a  great  contrast,  that  of  the  law  and  the  Gos- 
pel. The  law  is  the  expression  of  the  Divine  command,  of  the 
moral  order,  and  is  for  man  as  man  unrealisable,  so  soon  as  the 


276  CHRISTIANITY 

whole,  the  inner,  the  perfect,  are  taken  as  the  standard;  the 
Gospel  is  the  proclamation  of  grace  and  salvation,  and  is  thence- 
forth the  proper  object  of  faith.  It  is  impossible  that  such  for- 
giveness and  reconciliation  can  affect  man  magically  and  without 
an  inner  impulse;  it  requires  personal  appropriation;  and  it  is 
faith  in  which  this  is  accomplished.  But  this  single  process 
which  is  all  that  must  take  place  upon  man's  part  is  itself  more 
than  anything  else  a  matter  of  Divine  grace.  "The  rest  God 
effects  with  us  and  through  us;  this  He  effects  in  us  and  with- 
out us."  Here  we  must  refrain  from  ascribing  any  merit  to  man, 
and  give  honour  to  God  alone.  "If  justification  is  attributed  to 
faith,  it  is  attributed  to  the  mercy  of  God,  and  not  to  human 
efforts,  or  human  works,  or  human  worthiness"  (Melanchthon). 
But  if  the  establishing  of  a  new  relation  between  God  and 
man  is  really  altogether  God's  doing,  and  man  is  only  a  recipi- 
ent, there  springs  from  the  change  introduced  by  Luther  a  new 
life  full  of  fresh  and  glad  activity.  For  after  grace  and  love  have 
removed  the  contradiction,  and  destroyed  the  barrier  between 
God  and  the  world,  the  glory  revealed  in  Christ  may  be  shared 
by  all  believers,  and  it  is  capable  of  making  them,  as  true  chil- 
dren of  God,  the  freest  of  kings.  The  heavier  the  burden  of  evil 
was  formerly  felt  to  be,  the  greater  is  the  present  jubilation  over 
the  new-found  freedom;  the  more  painful  the  doubt  of  salvation 
was,  the  more  joyful  is  the  absolute  certainty  of  it.  As  "the 
Word  of  God  comes  to  change  and  to  renew  the  world,  as  often 
as  it  comes,"  so  man  is  now  summoned  to  untiring  effort  and 
achievement.  In  particular,  the  disposition  to  be  helpful  and 
self-sacrificing  abounds.  "From  faith  there  flows  love  and  joy 
in  the  Lord,  and  from  love  flows  a  glad  and  free  spirit,  anxious 
to  do  service  to  others  without  thought  of  gratitude,  of  praise  or 
blame,  of  gain  or  loss."  In  this  sense  we  are  told  that  we  ought 
to  be  a  Christ  to  one  another  (alter  alterius  Christus),  and  in  this 
entirely  ethical  reference  something  else  is  meant  than  with  the 
Greek  Church  Fathers.  "As  Christ  has  offered  Himself  to  me, 
so  will  I  give  myself  to  my  neighbour  as  a  sort  of  Christ  (quen- 
dam  Christum},  in  order  not  to  do  anything  in  this  life  except 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  277 

what  I  see  is  necessary,  useful,  and  salutary  to  my  neighbour, 
since  I  myself  through  faith  have  a  superabounding  share  in  all 
good  things  in  Christ."  Such  service  to  one's  neighbour  is  the 
surest  witness  of  one's  own  salvation  through  Divine  grace. 
"  To  forgive  one's  neighbour  makes  us  sure  and  certain  that  God 
has  forgiven  us." 

However,  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  new  life  is  freedom, 
so  that  Melanchthon  could  say  in  so  many  words,  "In  the  end 
freedom  is  Christianity";  freedom  not  as  a  natural  property, 
but  as  a  favour  and  gift  of  God;  freedom  not  of  the  man  in 
himself,  but  of  the  "Christian  man."  But  this  freedom  means 
primarily  freedom  from  the  law;  that  the  law  shall  no  longer 
terrify  us  with  its  oppression  and  compulsion,  but  that  we  shall 
do  the  good  of  our  own  accord.  Freedom,  also,  from  all  works; 
not  as  though  they  could  be  dispensed  with,  but  in  the  sense 
that  they  do  not  bring  salvation.  By  faith  we  are  not  free  from 
works,  but  from  the  ascription  of  value  to  works  (de  opinionibus 
operum).  Herewith  is  consummated  a  change  in  the  ideal  of 
Christian  perfection.  Where  works  lose  all  independent  value, 
no  specifically  holy  office  can  be  set  apart  from  everyday  life, 
and  its  incumbent  clothed  with  peculiar  majesty;  there  is  no 
mark  of  distinction,  no  superabounding  merit;  no  sphere  of 
activity  stands  above  others  in  the  service  of  God.  In  accord- 
ance with  the  conviction  that  "God's  Word  is  our  sanctuary, 
and  makes  all  things  holy,"  the  work  of  everyday  and  the  call- 
ing of  the  burgher  have  full  honour  and  sanctity  ascribed  to 
them.  Hence,  much  that  the  older  belief  accounted  of  the 
first  importance  falls  to  the  ground;  namely,  contempt  of 
the  world,  double  morality,  the  distinction  between  priests 
and  laymen,  the  store  of  works  of  supererogation,  and  the 
doctrine  of  purgatory.  Herewith,  the  privileged  status  and 
the  superior  power  of  the  Church  were  shaken  in  their  foun- 
dations. 

A  development  of  the  greatest  importance  now  takes  place, 
in  that  the  old  conception  of  an  invisible  church  is  enormously 
strengthened,  and  at  the  same  time  the  human  and  temporal 


278  CHRISTIANITY 

elements  in  the  visible  church  are  far  more  distinctly  felt.  That 
is  no  mere  theoretical  distinction;  it  is  a  liberation  of  the  re- 
ligious from  the  merely  ecclesiastical;  it  is  an  elevation  of  moral 
and  religious  personality  above  all  human  authority  and  tradi- 
tion. The  Christian  is  indeed  bound  to  the  Divine  order,  and 
all  his  strength  springs  from  Divine  grace;  but  just  for  that 
reason  subjection  to  human  dogmas  seems  something  shameful 
and  slavish  (turpe  et  iniquiter  servile};  just  for  that  reason  we 
are  told  that  one  "ought  not  to  seek  justification  in  prayers  and 
divine  exercises,  such  as  have  been  invented  by  men."  "Nei- 
ther the  Pope,  nor  a  bishop,  nor  any  man,  has  a  right  to  impose 
a  single  syllable  upon  a  Christian  without  the  latter's  consent; 
whatever  is  done  otherwise,  is  done  tyrannically."  The  cere- 
monies are  now  regarded  as  appointments  having  a  transitory 
form;  to  confine  salvation  to  them  would  mean  to  diminish  the 
Divine  grace;  they  are  subject  to  the  changes  of  time,  and  are 
like  a  scaffolding  which  is  removed  on  the  completion  of  the 
building.  The  invocation  of  the  saints  is  condemned  with  par- 
ticular emphasis,  as  obscuring  the  work  of  Christ  and  as  weak- 
ening the  trust  in  the  Divine  grace.  This  change  to  greater  in- 
wardness and  to  an  insistence  upon  the  essential  is  sustained 
and  enforced  by  the  demand  that  each  individual  fully  appro- 
priate the  Divine  grace,  and  that  we  attain  to  an  unreserved 
faith  in  regeneration;  it  is  not  enough  that  Christ  should  be 
generally  acknowledged,  He  must  be  Christ  for  thee  and  me 
(ut  tibi  et  mihi  sit  Christus}.  The  Divine  life  should  not  merely 
somehow  touch  man,  and  adhere  to  him  from  without;  it 
should  strike  its  roots  into  his  very  nature,  operate  in  him,  and 
pervade  his  whole  life. 

In  the  presence  of  this  striving  for  greater  sincerity,  all  ca- 
price on  the  part  of  the  mere  individual,  and  all  derivation  of 
divine  truth  from  human  reason,  are  denounced  with  the  ut- 
most energy.  The  Divine  grace  comes  to  man  as  a  fact,  and  it 
cannot  be  further  deduced  or  translated  into  general  concepts; 
it  is  a  fact,  therefore,  before  which  reason  must  unconditionally 
bow;  the  speculations  of  reason  have  no  place  in  divine  things, 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  279 

nor  may  the  Scriptures  be  interpreted  in  accordance  with  her 
subjective  findings,  but  must  be  taken  and  accepted  in  the 
plain  sense  of  the  words.  To  that  extent,  the  salvation  of  man 
is  here  made  to  depend  essentially  upon  an  historical  fact,  which 
must  be  not  merely  of  an  invisible  and  spiritual,  but  also  of  a 
visible  and  material  sort.  There  can  be  no  surer  prevention  of 
caprice,  unless  the  letter  itself  has  authority,  and  unless  the 
sacraments,  in  addition  to  the  compulsion  of  faith,  contain  the 
real  presence  of  Christ. 

From  these  conditions  there  springs  a  life  full  of  movement 
and  intense  interest.  A  securer  inward  peace  is  won  through 
love  and  grace;  a  childlike  relation  to  God  develops,  and  with 
it  an  inner  gladness,  which  illuminates  also  the  life  with  the 
world,  and  even  throws  a  glamour  over  external  nature.  But  all 
the  inner  growth  of  life  by  no  means  converts  the  earthly  exist- 
ence into  an  abode  of  pure  bliss.  For  the  opposition  of  a  dark 
and  hostile  world  persists;  we  are  surrounded  by  a  world  of 
profound  unreason.  "  God  has  cast  us  into  the  world  under  the 
devil's  sway,  so  that  we  possess  no  paradise  here,  but  must  ex- 
pect all  manner  of  misfortune  every  hour,  misfortunes  to  our 
person,  to  wife,  to  property,  to  honour."  Suffering  and  the 
sense  of  it  are  at  first  increased  by  the  entrance  upon  the  new 
life:  "the  more  of  a  Christian  one  is,  the  more  exposed  is  he  to 
evil,  to  suffering,  and  to  death."  The  hardest  to  bear,  how- 
ever, is  the  temptation  to  doubt.  For  doubt,  and  the  opposition 
of  the  reason,  are  continually  being  aroused;  inner  assaults  and 
conflicts  which,  being  spiritual,  are  far  more  serious  and  dan- 
gerous than  all  bodily  ones,  are  constantly  being  renewed.  But 
finally,  the  consciousness  of  salvation  through  Divine  grace  and 
love  rises  free  and  triumphant  above  all  opposition;  while  a 
steadfastness  which  is  at  once  humble  and  defiant  proves  itself 
superior  to  the  greatest  obstacles.  The  childlike  disposition 
merges  with  manly  courage,  with  a  heroic  spirit,  which  does  not 
shun  the  world  but  bravely  takes  up  the  battle  against  it.  Thus, 
even  that  which  is  hostile  must  ultimately  serve  to  promote 
inner  growth.  "It  is  spiritual  power  which  reigns  in  the  pres- 


280  CHRISTIANITY 

ence  of  the  enemy  and  is  mighty  amid  all  sorts  of  oppression. 
This  means  nothing  but  that  virtue  is  perfected  in  weakness, 
and  that  in  all  things  I  can  increase  in  salvation,  so  that 
even  the  cross  and  death  are  compelled  to  serve  me  and 
to  co-operate  toward  my  salvation."  Yet,  even  with  such 
an  inner  victory,  this  life  is  not  the  end  and  completion, 
but  a  mere  preliminary  (prcecursus),  or  rather,  a  beginning 
(initium)  of  the  future  life.  "It  is  not  yet  done  and  finished, 
but  it  is  in  progress;  it  is  not  the  goal  but  the  way.  Every- 
thing does  not  glow  and  shine,  but  everything  is  being 
swept." 

The  power  of  initiative  at  work  in  this  development  of  life  is 
re-enforced  by  the  distinct  consciousness  of  opposition  to  the 
traditional  forms  in  which  the  divine  truth  of  Christianity  seems 
to  be  distorted  and  obscured  by  human  additions.  There  are 
two  foes  to  combat:  Romish  arrogance  and  justification  by 
works,  and  Greek  speculation  and  subjectivity.  The  contest 
with  the  Romish  influence  is  consciously  the  more  important, 
yet  the  opposition  to  Hellenism  is  in  reality  not  much  less  prom- 
inent. In  Luther's  opinion,  Hellenism  had  flooded  Christianity 
with  foreign  systems  of  thought,  chiefly  the  Aristotelian  and 
Neo-Platonic,  and,  in  consequence,  not  only  distorted  it  in  de- 
tail, but  transformed  it  as  a  whole  too  much  into  a  mere 
theory  or  view  of  the  world.  Speculation,  he  thought,  had  here 
taken  the  place  of  religion;  human  reason  had  settled  the  prin- 
cipal facts  to  suit  itself,  now  one  way,  now  another:  and  the 
matter  of  chief  concern  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  mere  subject 
of  sport,  when  allegorical  interpretation  is  allowed  to  make  any- 
thing of  anything.  This  interpreting,  with  its  various  meanings, 
roused  to  bitter  antagonism  the  simple  sense  for  truth  of  Luther's 
German  nature;  with  irresistible  force,  he  opposed  to  it  the 
simple  facts,  the  plain  literal  sense.  It  is  the  recourse  to  history 
which  would  here  fain  exclude  all  philosophical  speculation; 
and  it  is  the  acceptance  of  the  fundamentally  ethical  character 
of  Christianity  which  would  exclude  all  intellectualism.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  characteristic  peculiarity  of  Christianity  appears 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  281 

to  be  worked  out  in  its  purity,  and  at  the  same  time  a  resump- 
tion of  early,  genuine  Christianity  to  be  consummated. 

That  the  Reformation  was  no  simple  restoration  but  a  devel- 
opment and  a  revolution  scarcely  admits  of  dispute.  In  its  search 
for  an  immediate  relation  of  the  soul  to  God,  and  for  a  pure 
inwardness  of  the  moral  and  religious  life,  it  might  well  make 
appeal  to  early  Christianity;  for  early  Christianity  really  pos- 
sessed those  elements.  But  it  possessed  them  along  with  others; 
it  had  not  yet  given  them  the  exclusiveness,  the  repellent  power, 
which  they  received  from  Luther.  Mediaeval  Christianity,  too, 
by  no  means  rejected  immediacy  and  inwardness,  although  the 
place  which  these  occupied  had  been  still  further  restricted,  and 
they  were  forced  to  adapt  themselves  even  more  to  tendencies 
of  another  sort.  The  innovation  accomplished  by  the  Refor- 
mation lay,  therefore,  neither  in  its  introduction  of  something 
entirely  new,  nor  in  its  resuscitation  of  something  wholly  discarded 
and  buried,  but  rather  in  the  fact  that  between  the  two  ele- 
ments which  had  hitherto  peacefully  existed  side  by  side,  be- 
tween, namely,  a  religion  of  pure  inwardness  and  the  religion  of 
the  ecclesiastical  system,  there  had  sprung  up  an  irreconcilable 
opposition;  and  this  opposition  was  due  to  the  fact  that  that  in- 
wardness had  become  far  more  an  affair  of  the  whole  man,  in- 
deed, an  all-dominating  force.  That  is  the  way  in  which  great 
changes  hi  the  religious  world  are  wont  to  take  place:  there  is 
a  desire  to  restore  to  present  consciousness  something  original; 
but  by  fixing  attention  upon  it  alone,  it  becomes  intensified, 
everything  opposed  to  it  is  eliminated,  an  inner  transformation 
results,  life's  centre  of  gravity  is  shifted,  and  thus  the  sense  of 
the  original  also  is  radically  altered.  Hence  the  Reformation 
does  not  restore  the  old,  but  inaugurates  a  new,  Christianity. 

The  new  character  of  the  Reformation  is  attested  by  changes 
of  a  very  decisive  sort.  The  more  prominent  position  accorded 
to  the  inner  life  elevates  the  spiritual  above  the  sensuous  and 
gives  it  greater  freedom;  the  confusion  of  the  two,  transmitted 
to  Christianity  by  declining  antiquity,  and  still  further  con- 


282  CHRISTIANITY 

founded  by  the  Middle  Ages,  now  disappears.  The  sensuous 
was  thus  absorbed  into  the  more  fundamental  spiritual  process 
as  an  essential  constituent  belonging  to  its  full  reality.  Such  a 
fusion  placed  the  religious  life  in  danger  of  becoming  seriously 
materialised;  much  resulted  which,  with  a  freer  detachment  of 
the  spiritual  from  the  sensuous,  would  certainly  have  appeared 
as  magic,  as  crass  superstition  and  insufferable  idolatry.  The 
Reformation  consummated  such  an  emancipation  of  the  spir- 
itual, and  at  the  same  time  degraded  the  sensuous  into  a  mere 
image  and  symbol.  The  liberation  thus  brought  about  appeared 
both  as  the  true  fulfilment  of  a  religion  which  required  that  God 
should  be  worshipped  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  as  an  elevation 
of  life  to  manly  independence  and  majesty,  as  compared  with  the 
state  of  nonage.  This  sharper  demarcation  of  the  sensuous  and 
the  spiritual  had  a  profound  effect  also  upon  the  ethical  and  the 
practical.  For  the  removal  of  the  confusion  between  them  led 
directly  to  the  rejection  of  the  ascetic  ideal  of  life,  which  sees 
something  evil  in  the  sensuous  as  such.  That  view  was  right, 
so  far  as  the  refined  and  corrupt  sensuousness  of  the  latest 
period  of  antiquity  is  concerned;  but  it  lost  its  justification 
when  applied  to  the  more  natural  and  spontaneous,  although 
robust  and  even  crude,  sensuousness  of  modern  peoples.  With- 
out such  a  new  environment,  the  Reformation  would  hardly 
have  won  emancipation  from  the  monastic  ideal  of  life. 

Evident,  also,  is  a  general  trend,  not  only  of  religion  but  of 
the  whole  of  life,  toward  greater  activity.  That  this  activity  is 
essentially  unlike  the  restlessness  of  mere  natural  vigour,  and 
that  no  mere  insolent  lust  of  antagonism  or  wanton  mania  for 
innovation  enticed  Luther  into  this  momentous  struggle,  are 
facts  which  only  the  crassest  misunderstanding  of  his  nature 
and  purpose  could  mistake.  In  reality,  the  whole  development 
of  life  here  bore  within  itself  the  consciousness  of  unconditional 
dependence  upon  infinite  power;  all  strength  admittedly  came 
from  God;  and  nothing  but  solicitude  for  the  salvation  of  the 
immortal  soul  and  for  the  rescue  of  Christian  truth  could  have 
forced  the  breach  with  an  ecclesiastical  system  which  had  been 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  283 

hitherto  so  passionately  venerated.  That  which  is  new  and 
all-important,  however,  is  the  fact  that  the  creation  of  a  new  life 
peculiarly  one's  own  was  looked  upon  as  the  chief  result  of  the 
Divine  activity;  the  direct  relation  to  a  transcendent  power  en- 
ables man  himself  to  transcend  the  world  and  frees  him  from 
all  human  dependence.  Henceforth  he  does  not  need  to  look 
for  the  support  of  life  without,  having  found  the  surest  support 
of  all  in  the  inner  presence  of  infinite  love  and  grace.  Piety,  too, 
assumes  a  more  active  character,  and  outgrows  that  blind  de- 
votion which  earlier  Christianity  esteemed  so  highly.  At  the 
same  time,  the  hierarchical  system,  which  found  the  essence  of 
religion  in  a  vast  structure  outside  the  soul,  is  shaken  to  its  foun- 
dations. Luther  and  the  other  reformers  did  this  system  much 
injustice,  by  imputing  to  its  human  representatives  as  a  per- 
sonal fault  what  in  fact  w as  only  a  necessary  consequence  of  his- 
torical conditions,  and  by  treating  particular  defects  of  the  age 
as  permanent  characteristics  of  the  system.  But  that  the  above 
historical  conditions  had  passed  away,  or  at  least  were  begin- 
ning to  disappear,  the  Reformation  showed  in  a  convincing 
manner;  whatever  impossibilities  and  errors  lay  concealed  in 
the  imposing  hierarchical  organisation  were  certain  to  be  dis- 
tinctly felt  the  moment  that  the  inner  world  of  the  spirit  was 
recognised  as  the  true  abode  of  God's  kingdom,  and  the  imme- 
diate presence  of  this  kingdom  was  found  in  the  soul  of  each 
individual.  It  now  became  evident  that  the  separation  of  the 
substance  of  religion  from  the  life  of  the  soul  endangered  the 
spirit  of  religion;  that  it  tended  toward  the  substitution  of  the 
Church  for  God  and  ecclesiasticism  for  religion.  If  the  indi- 
vidual spontaneity  of  man  is  excluded  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  religious  life,  goodness  and  the  divine  influences  can  be  im- 
parted to  him  only  from  without  and  in  a  miraculous  manner; 
there  is  danger  both  of  coarse  materialism  and  of  inner  deca- 
dence; the  bounds  between  religion  and  magic  become  oblit- 
erated. Moreover,  all  the  efforts  to  disconnect  the  Church  from 
the  standpoint  of  individuals  cannot  prevent  human  ideas  and 
interests  from  entering  into  its  structure;  in  particular,  the  idea 


284  CHRISTIANITY 

of  power  takes  a  dangerous  hold  upon  activity,  so  that  the  osten- 
sibly divine  becomes  strongly  humanised.  In  contrast  with  the 
above,  the  Reformation  upholds  the  view  that  man  can  never 
be  raised  above  the  merely  human  except  by  a  divine  miracle 
wrought  within  his  inner  nature,  and  that  only  upon  this  inner 
foundation  can  the  kingdom  of  God  among  men  be  built. 

That  means  a  life  and  death  struggle  with  the  older  way  of 
thinking;  a  new  epoch  accordingly  dawns  for  humanity.  To 
acknowledge  the  higher  character  of  this  new  movement  is  by 
no  means  equivalent  to  the  declaration  that  it  is  superior  in  all 
respects.  Much  that  was  valuable  in  the  old  was  sacrificed, 
since  the  rejection  of  all  usages  is  an  undeniable  abuse;  e.  g.t 
is  it  necessary  that  the  monastic  life,  a  life  withdrawn  from  the 
world  and  devoted  solely  to  the  aims  of  the  spirit,  be  discarded 
along  with  double  morality  and  justification  by  works  ?  More- 
over, in  certain  vital  points,  the  old  conserved  the  necessary  re- 
quirements of  religion  much  better  than  the  new.  E.  g.,  the 
former  more  vigorously  defended  the  indispensable  indepen- 
dence of  the  religious,  as  against  the  political,  community;  it 
more  energetically  resisted  a  merely  secular  development  of  civi- 
lisation, a  decline  into  mere  expediency  and  utility.  But  the 
immaturity,  and  even  the  errors,  of  the  new  movement,  cannot 
preclude  the  admission  that  in  it  a  higher  principle  has  come 
into  existence,  a  principle  which,  at  first  intended  only  as  a  re- 
ligious one,  must  eventually  transform  the  whole  of  life. 

The  immaturity  of  the  Reformation  is  indeed  the  more  in  need 
of  emphasis,  the  higher  the  estimate  placed  upon  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  change.  Least  surprising  is  the  fact  that  the  new 
could  not  wholly  free  itself  from  the  old,  but  perpetuated  much 
that  did  not  accord  with  its  own  nature.  Thus,  the  shifting  of 
the  centre  of  life  to  the  sphere  of  moral  conduct  would  neces- 
sarily have  led  to  an  examination  and  transformation  of  that 
world  of  thought,  so  largely  based  on  Greek  speculation,  which 
is  preserved  in  the  dogmas  of  the  early  Church.  So,  too,  con- 
firming the  spiritual  character  of  Christianity  would  have  ne- 
cessitated the  eradicating  of  anthropomorphism  from  religious 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  285 

ideas  and  emotions;  but  anthropomorphism  is  rather  strength- 
ened than  otherwise  in  the  doctrine  of  an  angry  God  de- 
manding satisfaction,  and  in  the  doctrines  of  the  atonement 
and  of  vicarious  suffering. 

Likewise,  in  its  inner  character,  the  new  often  has  not  attained 
the  perfect  elaboration  which  would  accord  with  its  own  funda- 
mental aim.  The  great  innovation  demands  that  the  spiritual 
life  of  man  should  form  a  new  unity  above  all  special  activities; 
and  the  whole  of  life  can  be  transformed  only  in  case  the 
moral  task  results  in  an  elevation  of  the  whole  of  man's  world, 
and  is  not  confined  to  a  special  domain.  Such  an  aim  is  oper- 
ative and  exerts  a  certain  force  in  the  movement,  but  it  is  not 
worked  out  cleanly  and  symmetrically.  It  often  appears  as  if 
the  intention  were  merely  to  transfer  the  focus  of  life  from  the 
intellect  to  the  feelings  and  the  will;  as  e.  g.,  Melanchthon  calls 
the  "  Heart  with  its  emotions  the  most  important  and  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  man."  There  is  danger  that  the  movement  may 
veer  too  much  into  the  merely  psychological  and  subjective,  that 
the  deepening  of  the  moral  life  may  remain  too  much  confined 
to  individuals,  and  not  extend  its  influence  beyond  the  inner  na- 
ture to  the  whole  work  of  civilisation.  The  result  is  a  dualism 
in  life:  on  the  one  side,  a* religion  consisting  merely  of  a  certain 
subjective  disposition  and  mood;  on  the  other,  a  cultivated  life 
possessing  no  relation  to  ultimate  questions.  With  Luther  him- 
self, the  belief  that  the  end  of  the  world  is  near  at  hand  surely 
also  tended  to  the  same  result;  for  whoever  believes  that,  can- 
not well  undertake  the  upbuilding  of  a  new  order  of  life.  Conse- 
quently, the  activity  which  here  appears  in  the  deepest  things  of 
life  is  not  disseminated  through  life's  whole  extent;  on  the  con- 
trary, passive  endurance  of  this  evil  world,  a  submission  to  ex- 
isting powers,  an  acceptance  of  the  maxim,  "Be  silent,  suffer, 
refrain,  and  endure!"  are  often  made  to  appear  as  the  right 
attitude.  Thus  acquiescing  in  the  irrational  world,  Lutheranism 
exhibited  far  less  power  and  efficiency  in  dealing  with  general 
conditions  than  did  the  other  branch  of  the  Reformation. 

But  not  only  was  the  new  life  immature,  it  contained  within 


286  CHRISTIANITY 

itself  an  unyielding  and,  in  the  end,  unendurable  contradiction. 
The  religious  life  was  to  be  based  upon  a  direct  relation  to  God, 
and  found,  accordingly,  in  pure  inwardness.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  it  was  necessary  to  guard  at  any  cost  against  its  falling 
under  the  power  of  subjective  caprice  and  so  of  losing  its  truth; 
with  good  right,  therefore,  Luther  demands  an  immovable  cer- 
titude founded  upon  fact,  corroborating  the  inner  certitude  and 
giving  strength  for  the  conflict  with  a  hostile  world.  This  su- 
perior and  indubitable  certitude  can  be  sought  to-day  only 
within  the  life  of  the  spirit  itself,  in  a  new  stage  which  directly 
evinces  a  divine  reality.  But  Luther,  under  the  conditions  of 
his  time,  could  not  well  find  such  certainty,  such  a  firm  foothold, 
elsewhere  than  in  an  historical  fact,  i.  e.,  a  fact  lying  within  his- 
tory and  historically  transmitted.  He  accepted  as  such  fact  the 
Incarnation  of  God  in  Christ  and  the  Atonement  of  love;  in 
view  of  its  unintelligibility  by  the  powers  of  reason,  this  fact 
must  not  only  be  certain  in  itself,  but  it  must  be  handed  down 
to  us  by  sure  guarantees  and  in  a  manner  excluding  all  doubt. 
Hence,  the  craving  for  unimpeachable  witnesses  and  sanctions. 
Such  a  secure  support  Luther  found  above  all  in  the  Bible,  as 
the  "Word  of  God";  he  found  it  also  in  the  common  teaching  of 
the  early  Church;  he  found  it,  lastly,  in  the  sacraments.  All 
subjective  interpretation  of  these  evidences,  all  dissipation  of 
them  into  mere  notions,  must  be  prevented.  Thus  a  principal 
part  of  belief  is  the  unconditional  authority  of  the  Scriptures, 
coupled  with  a  return  to  the  literal  sense  of  the  text,  which  is 
assumed  to  be  something  simple  and  intelligible  to  all.  "This 
above  all  must  be  incontestable  for  a  Christian,  that  the  Holy 
Scriptures  are  a  spiritual  light,  far  clearer  than  the  sun  itself, 
especially  in  all  that  concerns  salvation  and  what  is  necessary." 
The  dread  of  deviation  from  the  letter,  and  the  constant  de- 
mand for  something  tangible,  and  something  exempt  from  in- 
terpretation and  discussion,  furnish  an  explanation  also  of  the 
degeneration  into  magic  of  the  doctrine  of  the  sacraments,  some- 
thing which  Luther  elsewhere  so  energetically  combated.  He 
is  here  in  danger  of  ascribing  full  reality  only  to  a  mixture  of  the 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  287 

sensuous  and  the  spiritual,  and  thus  of  relapsing  into  the  medi- 
aeval way  of  confounding  them. 

There  is  a  contradiction  in  all  this,  which  the  arbitrary  fiat  of 
the  powerful  man  might  indeed  suppress,  but  could  not  solve. 
Where  the  religious  life  is  found  in  a  wholly  direct  relation  to 
God,  the  historical  element  may  indeed  be  an  indispensable 
means  of  the  awakening  and  education  of  man,  but,  as  incapa- 
ble of  being  immediately  experienced,  it  ought  not  to  be  made 
a  part  of  faith  itself.  And  where,  as  with  Luther,  salvation  is 
essentially  connected  with  an  historical  fact,  there  results  a  fatal 
discord,  which  must  involve  all  the  fundamental  concepts. 
Thus,  faith  is  now  not  merely  the  unconditional  trust  of  the 
whole  soul  in  the  infinite  love  and  grace,  but  also  a  compliant 
acceptance  of  a  number  of  authoritatively  transmitted  doctrines 
which  are  in  direct  conflict  with  reason.  So,  too,  the  Word  is 
not  merely  God's  own  saving  act,  but  also  the  documentary 
definition  of  it  in  the  biblical  books.  From  the  fact  that  a 

4 

purely  inward  religious  life  was  thus  made  to  depend  upon 
something  which  could  not  become  an  object  of  immediate  ex- 
perience, there  have  resulted  a  great  deal  of  spiritual  oppression 
and  many  heavy  burdens  of  conscience.  Moreover,  Luther's 
historical  position  assumed  a  contradictory  aspect  through  the 
fact  that  he  outwardly  attacked  in  the  severest  manner  the  same 
views  which,  in  a  somewhat  modified  form,  he  was  obliged  to 
include  in  his  owrn  system  of  thought.  He  aimed  at  emancipa- 
tion from  ecclesiastical  authority,  yet  was  forced  to  introduce 
authority  of  another  kind;  he  sought  to  dispense  with  all  intel- 
lectualism,  yet  ended  with  intellectualism  of  another  sort,  since 
instead  of  speculation  and  mysticism  he  required  a  knowledge 
of  historical  data;  in  fact,  the  Church,  with  Luther,  was  upon 
the  point  of  becoming  pre-eminently  a  doctrinal  association,  a 
mere  school  of  the  pure  Word.  Luther  had  assailed  Rome  in  the 
name  of  freedom  and  pure  spirituality,  yet  he  was  soon  forced 
to  champion  authority  and  the  letter,  in  opposition  to  the 
"Zealots,"  the  "Anabaptists,"  the  "enthusiasts,"  and  the 
"fanatics";  and  he  did  so  with  harsh  severity  and  not  without 


288  CHRISTIANITY 

injustice.  The  appeal  to  the  spirit,  which  was  what  first  made 
his  own  position  possible,  he  turned  into  a  bitter  reproach  of 
others.  "But,  my  good  friend,  what  does  the  spirit  amount  to? 
I  have  also  been  in  the  spirit,  and  have  also  seen  the  spirit." 
Consequently,  ecclesiastical  Protestantism  contains  this  con- 
tradiction :  in  the  inner  uplift  which  it  gave,  it  began  a  work 
calculated  to  revolutionise  the  world;  but  in  the  execution  of  its 
task,  it  again  fell  under  the  influence  of  the  body  of  thought 
whose  dominion  it  had  sought  to  break. 

Luther  himself,  however,  arrived  at  a  middle  position,  which 
was  not  free  from  caprice,  and  which  he  imposed  upon  his  age 
with  rude  severity:  a  particularly  grievous  oppression  resulted 
here  from  the  fact  that,  on  the  one  hand,  the  personal  conviction 
of  each  individual  was  appealed  to,  and,  upon  the  other,  the 
decision  was  strictly  prescribed,  and  any  deviation  therefrom 
stigmatised  as  an  offence. 

Yet  this  contradiction,  which  not  only  appears  such  to-day, 
but  was  one  from  the  outset,  was,  under  the  prevailing  conditions, 
an  unavoidable  necessity;  the  unparalleled  confusion  of  the  times 
would  have  created  the  danger  of  a  general  disintegration,  had 
not  an  iron  hand  drawn  a  middle  course,  and  defended  it  right 
and  left  regardless  of  consequences,  thus  at  once  preserving  his- 
torical continuity  and  making  progress.  There  lay  something 
deeply  tragic  in  the  fact  that  the  new  movement  could  establish 
itself  historically  only  through  a  contradiction  with  its  own  in- 
most nature;  and  Luther  himself  was  the  principal  sufferer. 
He  imposed  upon  others  nothing  which  he  did  not  first  impose 
upon  himself;  if  he  assumed  a  high-handed  and  domineer- 
ing attitude  toward  others,  he  did  it  chiefly  because  he  had  the 
severest  trials  of  his  own  to  overcome,  which  often  "wrung  from 
him  the  cold  sweat";  because  his  conflict  with  others  was  at 
the  same  time  a  conflict  with  himself.  And  precisely  in  these 
conflicts,  the  transparent  veracity,  the  perfect  loyalty  and  gen- 
uineness of  the  man,  are  revealed  with  special  distinctness. 
He  devoted  the  highest  conceivable  earnestness  to  eternal 
things,  and  by  such  an  earnestness  of  his  whole  personality  he 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  289 

afforded  a  secure  support  to  mankind  for  centuries;  possessed 
at  once  of  great  power  and  childlike  simplicity,  and  of  a  rugged 
and  rough  manner,  he  stands  ever  memorable  before  the  eyes 
of  the  German  people,  an  impressive  admonisher  exhorting  to 
constant  watchfulness  for  the  soul.  And,  just  as  he  personally 
fought  his  way  triumphantly  through  all  the  confusions,  doubts, 
and  dangers  to  a  position  of  absolute  security  and  deep  peace, 
so  his  work,  aside  from  all  that  is  doubtful  and  ephemeral,  rep- 
resents a  type  of  life  which  is  of  permanent  significance.  An  in- 
exhaustible well-spring  of  life  is  here  disclosed  in  the  inner 
movements  and  even  the  conflicting  emotions  of  the  soul;  hum- 
ble trust  and  a  courageous,  vigorous  spirit  here  merge  into  one; 
man  is  brought  into  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Infinite  and 
Eternal,  and  so  exalted  to  incomparable  dignity  and  worth.  Above 
all,  spiritual  life  now  becomes  a  strife  for  and  against  worlds. 
Inasmuch  as  independence,  the  sense  of  freedom,  and  courageous 
living  are  here  ennobled,  indeed  sanctified,  by  being  grounded  in 
infinite  love  and  grace,  an  altogether  new  view  of  the  world  is 
revealed,  and  a  fundamentally  new  relation  to  reality  estab- 
lished. In  this  sense,  the  Reformation  became  the  animating 
soul  of  the  modern  world,  the  principal  motive  force  of  its  prog- 
ress. In  this  larger  sense,  the  greatest  thinkers  and  poets  of  the 
last  century,  men  like  Kant  and  Goethe,  have  gratefully  felt  and 
acknowledged  themselves  to  be  its  followers;  in  truth,  every 
phase  of  modern  life  which  is  not  directly  or  indirectly  con- 
nected with  the  Reformation  has  something  insipid  and  paltry 
about  it. 

But  even  in  its  narrower,  ecclesiastical  form,  the  problems 
and  conflicts  largely  spring  from  the  fact  that  a  higher  aim  per- 
vades the  whole,  that  the  task  is  increased,  that  a  closer  relation 
of  man's  nature  to  the  source  of  truth  and  love  is  sought 
Whoever  concedes  that  this  deepening  has  taken  place  will 
honour  the  spirit  of  the  whole,  notwithstanding  its  immaturity, 
and  will  welcome  the  dawning  of  a  new  and  more  genuine  life. 
The  mediaeval  system  embraced  the  most  diverse  interests, 
and  cleverly  adjusted  them  to  one  another  and  combined  their 


290  CHRISTIANITY 

results.  This  marvellous  system  of  inner  and  outer  accommo- 
dation, this  incomparable  masterpiece  of  organisation,  with  its 
accumulated  knowledge  of  mankind  and  its  vast  historical  ex- 
perience, possessed  an  undoubted  advantage  in  its  effects 
upon  social  life  and  upon  the  visible  conditions  of  existence;  it 
had  a  broader  historical  foundation,  greater  rationality,  and  a 
riper  culture.  The  new  movement  can  claim  superiority  only 
where  the  belief  prevails  that,  as  Luther  expresses  it,  "not  for 
the  price  of  the  whole  world  can  a  single  soul  be  bought"; 
where  man  accepts  the  momentous  tasks  of  life  in  joyful  trust; 
where,  besides,  in  the  face  of  the  severest  conflicts  and  the  clash 
of  the  deepest  human  interests,  there  is  a  recognition  both  of  the 
immeasurable  worth  of  personality  and  of  the  establishment  of 
a  kingdom  of  independent  spirituality. 

Hence,  the  uncompromising  alternative  which  characterises 
the  view  of  life  developed  by  the  Reformation,  particularly  in 
Luther's  conception  of  it,  may  serve  also  for  its  own  criticism. 
Whoever  rejects  the  above  deepening  in  spirituality  as  super- 
fluous or  impossible,  cannot  look  upon  the  Reformation  other- 
wise than  as  a  leap  in  the  dark,  a  stirring  up  of  wild  passion  and 
fatal  schism;  whoever,  on  the  contrary,  admits  the  possibility, 
the  inevitableness,  of  the  change,  must  accept  it,  with  all  its  un- 
solved problems,  as  a  mighty  deed  of  liberation  and  as  the  dawn 
of  a  new  day. 

(b)  Zwingli  and  Calvin 

Although  Luther  unquestionably  forms  the  spiritual  head  of 
the  Reformation,  and  the  development  which  took  place  in  his 
personality  must  be  accepted  as  the  culmination  of  the  whole 
movement,  the  leading  men  of  the  Reformed  Church  possessed 
far  too  much  independence  in  the  influence  they  exerted  upon 
life  to  be  passed  over  here  in  silence.  Our  brief  account,  which 
in  the  main  follows  Dilthey,  has  also  made  use,  in  the  part  on 
Zwingli,  of  the  excellent  work  by  Stahelin. 

As  compared  with  Luther,  Zwingli  was  much  more  closely 
related  to  Humanism  and  to  the  general  culture  of  his  time;  he 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  291 

was  also  more  strongly  impelled  toward  an  active  co-operation 
in  contemporary  affairs;  he  did  not  break  with  the  world  in  the 
radical  manner  of  Luther,  nor  impart  to  the  religious  life  such 
a  defiant  self-sufficiency,  nor  ascribe  to  it  such  a  superior  maj- 
esty. But,  although  there  is  less  depth  in  the  whole,  many  con- 
tradictions and  much  asperity  disappear,  the  religious  side  is 
more  closely  interwoven  with  practical  life,  and  the  world  of 
thought  becomes  far  more  rational,  than  with  the  founder  and 
hero  of  the  Reformation. 

"What  distinguished  Zwingli  from  Luther  in  the  treatment  of 
faith  is  the  closer  union  in  which  for  him  the  religious  and  the 
moral  aspects  of  faith  stood,  and  which,  accordingly,  led  him  to 
look  upon  the  relation  of  law  and  Gospel  rather  on  the  side  of 
their  affinity  than  on  that  of  their  opposition";  he  did  not  want 
to  recognise  any  other  reformation  of  the  Church  "than  one 
through  which  both  the  moral  and  social  life  of  the  people 
should  be  permeated  and  transformed  by  the  renewing  and 
sanctifying  power  of  the  Gospel"  (Stahelin).  In  harmony  with 
this  is  the  fact  that,  as  regards  Christ,  he  emphasised  the  ethical 
and  the  ideal  human  side,  and  did  not  dwell  merely  upon  the 
Passion.  A  more  rational  and  freer  mode  of  thought  appeared 
not  only  in  his  doctrine  of  the  sacraments,  but  also  in  a  sharper 
demarcation  between  original  sin  and  actual  sin,  in  the  receding 
of  the  conceptions  of  the  devil  and  of  the  end  of  the  world,  and 
in  the  extension  of  the  idea  of  revelation  so  as  to  include  not 
Christendom  only,  but  the  whole  of  mankind. 

But,  although  Zwingli  takes  pains  everywhere  to  point  out  a 
relation  of  man  to  God,  he  sees  in  this  relationship  no  mere 
natural  endowment  of  man  but  a  revelation  of  God;  with  a  de- 
cisiveness equal  to  that  of  Luther  and  Melanchthon,  he  rejects 
the  scholastic  doctrine  of  a  natural  knowledge  of  God  antece- 
dent to  faith.  Likewise,  Christianity  retains  a  central  position 
and  a  unique  character.  For  in  the  appearance  of  Christ  lay 
the  last  and  the  profoundest  revelation  of  perfect  goodness. 
Henceforth  the  entire  dependence  of  man  upon  God  is  clear,  as 
is  also  the  fact  that  this  relation  affords  him  complete  blessed- 


292  CHRISTIANITY 

ness.  The  true  religion,  accordingly,  is  this:  that  man  finds 
himself  dependent  solely  upon  God  and  trusts  solely  in  His 
goodness.  "This  is  the  well-spring  of  our  religion,  that  we  rec- 
ognise in  God,  Himself  uncreated,  the  creator  of  all  things, 
who  possesses  all  and  freely  gives  all." 

Consequently,  everything  must  vanish  that  comes  between  us 
and  God;  to  set  one's  hope  upon  anything  else  than  upon  God 
Himself  is  a  superstition;  "Such  an  unassailable  and  infallible 
power  as  faith  ought  to  be  can  never  be  based  upon  anything 
created.  For  how  could  that  which  at  one  time  did  not  exist  be 
a  foundation  for  our  trust?"  The  activity  of  the  invisible,  of 
that  which  is  superior  to  every  form  of  nature,  is  perfectly  evi- 
dent to  inner  consciousness;  "God's  greatest  miracle  is  that  He 
places  Himself  hi  relation  with  the  human  heart,  so  that  we 
recognise  Him  as  our  Father."  To  such  a  view,  the  old  doc- 
trine of  the  means  of»grace,  a  good  deal  of  which  is  preserved 
in  Luther's  doctrine  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  must  appear  as  mere 
magic,  and  hence  be  rejected. 

But  dependence  upon  God  by  no  means  destroys  man's  own 
activity;  rather,  man  should  devote  himself  with  his  whole 
strength  to  becoming  a  vessel  for  the  Divine  life  and  action,  in 
order  thus  to  bear  a  likeness  to  the  tireless  activity  of  God, 
through  whom  and  in  whom  all  things  live,  and  move,  and 
have  their  being.  "To  act,  in  universal  relationship  with  the 
all-comprehensive  highest  active  force,  is  the  soul  of  this  sys- 
tem." "Since  God  is  a  force,"  Zwingli  says  in  one  instance; 
"  He  will  not  suffer  that  one  whose  heart  He  has  drawn  to  Himself 
should  be  idle."  "Only  the  faithful  know  how  Christ  allows 
his  followers  no  leisure,  and  how  serene  and  happy  they  are  in 
their  work."  "It  is  not  the  duty  of  a  Christian  to  talk  in  a 
grand  way  about  doctrines,  but  steadily  to  co-operate  with  God 
in  the  accomplishment  of  great  and  difficult  things"  (after  Dil- 
they).  Even  the  doctrine  of  election  by  grace,  which  at  the  first 
view  appears  completely  to  annul  the  independence  of  the  agent, 
in  these  relations  rather  enhances  his  importance  and  activity. 
For  where  God  Himself  directly  decides  upon  the  salvation  or 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  293 

damnation  of  the  individual,  the  immediate  relation  to  Him  is 
everything,  the  inestimable  worth  of  the  religious  process  within 
the  individual  is  obvious,  the  believer  can  feel  himself  wholly 
secure  in  God  and  know  that  he  is  the  instrument  of  His  per- 
fectly good  and  omnipotent  will.  Moreover,  with  Zwingli,  "the 
thought  of  rejection  noticeably  recedes  behind  that  of  election 
to  blessedness"  (Stahelin). 

Thus  the  idea  of  an  active  and  manly  Christianity,  made 
prominent  by  the  Reformation,  was  developed  here  in  a  par- 
ticularly effective  form;  that  is,  religion  is  continually  being 
transformed  into  moral  conduct  and  thereby  sanctioned,  all  the 
other  aspects  of  life  unite  themselves  harmoniously  with  it,  and 
the  individual  has  his  independent  task  in  the  life  of  the  com- 
munity :  it  is  a  fresh  and  glad  spirit  which  emanates  from  Zwingli 
in  every  direction.  Even  if  it  be  in  good  part  true  that  the  reason 
why  everything  here  fits  together  so  smoothly  and  assumes  such 
clear  outlines  is  that  Zwingli  does  not  feel  the  dark  side  of  life 
and  the  contradictions  of  our  spiritual  existence  with  anything 
like  the  force,  nor  fight  his  way  through  them  with  such  deep 
emotions,  as  did  Luther;  and  even  though  his  practical  ten- 
dency might  easily  result  in  a  confusion  of  religion  and  politics, 
indeed,  of  religion  and  the  constabulary,  still,  the  peculiar  sig- 
nificance of  this  simple  and  healthy,  fresh  and  buoyant  Chris- 
tianity should  have  permanent  recognition. 

It  is  in  another  guise  that  the  fundamental  idea  of  reformed 
Christianity  appears  in  the  case  of  Calvin.  Born  to  organise 
and  to  rule,  his  mind  is  severely  methodical  and  unswerving  in 
its  logical  consistency;  every  detail  is  fitted  into  a  single  struc- 
ture of  thought.  Yet  not  only  the  form  but  also  the  fundamental 
feeling  is  a  different  one.  The  type  of  thought  is  theocentric,  in 
the  manner  of  Augustine;  the  honour  of  God  is  the  central  idea; 
all  creatures  subserve  His  glory;  it  is  the  absolute  will  of  God 
which  determines  every  thing,  and  in  a  manner  unintelligible  to 
man.  All  doubt,  and  even  all  natural  self-confidence,  are  an 
offence  against  the  majesty  of  God;  the  whole  of  man's  life 
should  be  dedicated  to  God,  to  whom  it  has  belonged  from  the 


294  CHRISTIANITY 

outset;  God  works  everywhere  without  mediation,  hence  all 
secondary  causes  and  human  instrumentalities  drop  out;  every- 
thing should  be  eliminated  from  worship  which  degrades  the 
purely  spiritual  essence  into  what  is  visible  and  merely  repre- 
sentative. 

Yet,  even  here,  the  activity  of  the  individual  person  is  fully 
preserved,  indeed,  if  that  be  possible,  still  further  increased;  just 
as  God  Himself  is  looked  upon  as  the  highest,  unceasingly  oper- 
ative activity,  so,  too,  the  service  of  God  must  be  that  of  an 
active  life.  But  activity  loses  the  character  of  radiant  gladness 
which  it  possessed  with  Zwingli;  it  assumes  a  stern  and  austere, 
indeed  a  mournful  and  gloomy,  aspect;  life  becomes  a  hard  and 
unrelenting  struggle  to  realise  the  purposes  of  God.  Whatever  is 
apart  from  that  struggle,  all  delight  in  natural  things,  is  forbidden 
and  condemned  as  a  robbery  of  the  Highest.  "  This  religiosity  is 
distinguished  from  that  of  Luther  by  the  rough  duties  of  a  war- 
rior of  God  under  strict  discipline  which  fills  every  moment  of 
life.  It  is  distinguished  from  Catholic  devoutness  by  the  power 
of  independent  action  which  it  produces.  But  its  character  is 
determined  by  the  way  in  which  the  religious  observance  of  the 
whole  life  results  from  the  principle  of  theocracy  and  election  by 
grace,  by  the  way  in  which  every  direct  and  indirect  relation  to 
other  men  finds  its  motive  in  that  theocracy,  and,  finally,  by  the 
way  in  which  a  proud  severity  toward  the  enemies  of  God  is 
here  justified  on  religious  grounds"  (Dilthey).* 

Closely  connected  with  this  affirmation  of  the  omni[K»tent  will 
of  God  and  of  the  unconditional  obedience  of  man  is  the  re- 
sumption of  Old  Testament  ideas  which  became  evident  in  the 
life  of  the  reformed  communities.  This  life  is  full  of  deep  ear- 
nestness and  is  apparently  joyless,  but  it  possesses  an  indom- 
itable energy;  there  is  not  only  the  strength  of  patience,  but 
also  the  impulse  to  act;  it  confers  an  immeasurable  power  both 
upon  the  individual  and  upon  the  self -sacrificing  congregation, 
the  chosen  instrument  of  God.  Nowhere  else  was  there  so 
much  effected  toward  elevating  the  Reformation  into  a  world 
power;  and  although  here,  too,  the  Church  eventually  took 

*  Se«  Appendix  I. 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  295 

refuge  in  an  orthodox  creed,  it  was  from  this  branch  of  the 
Reformation  that  the  mightiest  impulses  toward  civic  freedom 
and  freedom  of  thought  arose;  and  it  was  here  that,  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  Reformation,  modern  life  won  its  way  to  inde- 
pendence.* 

II.  CHRISTIANITY  AND  THE  LAST  CENTURIES 

However  unreservedly  we  may  accept  the  necessity  of  the 
Reformation,  and  however  high  an  estimate  we  may  place  upon 
its  importance,  the  fact  remains  that  it  profoundly  altered  the 
general  conditions  of  life,  and  also  that  serious  evils  resulted 
from  the  rupture.  The  antagonism  between  the  two  confessions 
roused  the  passions  peculiar  to  religion  to  the  highest  pitch,  and 
precluded  for  the  time  being  any  general  interest  in  the  work  of 
civilisation.  Occupied  in  refuting  an  opponent,  men  often  for- 
got, as  indeed  they  still  do  to-day,  the  content  of  their  own  lives. 
Moreover,  the  separation  brought  with  it,  for  both  sides,  the 
danger  of  narrowness.  On  the  part  of  Catholicism,  the  in- 
creased authority,  concentration,  and  stability  might  easily  re- 
sult in  a  narrowing  of  the  characters  of  men  and  in  a  dread  of 
freedom  of  any  sort.  On  the  Protestant  side,  on  the  contrary, 
the  supreme  solicitude  for  the  individual  soul  might  readily 
cause  indifference  toward  all  intellectual  interests,  split  religion 
up  into  a  number  of  sectarian  doctrines,  and  produce  much  can- 
tankerous obstinacy  on  the  part  of  individuals.  Moreover,  the 
great  historical  connections  which  the  Church  had  thus  far  pre- 
served, connections  reaching  far  back  into  the  early  history  of 
the  Orient,  were  here  lost.  In  their  stead,  Protestantism  pos- 
sessed the  advantage  of  greater  freedom,  and  of  a  history  richer 
in  content;  above  all,  the  enhanced  worth  of  personality  and  the 
increase  of  personal  responsibility  gave  it  great  power  and  the 
capacity  continually  to  stir  new  spiritual  depths. 

Catholicism  likewise  was  not  left  unchanged  by  the  flight  of 
time;  a  close  inspection  reveals  far  greater  modification,  and  far 
more  variety,  than  is  superficially  visible.  In  particular,  it  is 

•  See  Appendix  J. 


296  CHRISTIANITY 

traversed  by  the  opposition  between  a  system  which  aimed 
mainly  at  power  and  dominion  and  was  little  concerned  with  the 
inner  state  of  the  soul,  between  Ultramontanism,  in  short,  and 
a  purely  religious  belief  which  regarded  religion  as  an  end  in  it- 
self. The  two  tendencies  indeed  are  often  inseparably  united  in 
the  same  individual;  yet  in  themselves  there  is  a  wide  divergence 
between  them,  and  Catholicism  owes  its  inner  life  wholly  to  the 
second  tendency.  In  spite,  however,  of  the  inwardness,  ten- 
derness, and  delicacy  which  the  latter  gave  to  the  spiritual  life 
of  the  individual — suffice  it  to  recall  Pascal — it  was  at  a  decided 
disadvantage  in  its  effect  upon  society  as  a  whole,  when  com- 
pared with  the  rigid  organisation  of  Ultramontanism.  The 
future  alone  can  tell  whether  from  this  stand-point  a  progress  of 
life  as  a  whole  is  possible. 

The  antitheses  in  the  case  of  Protestantism  are  more  obvious; 
they  spring  from  its  innermost  nature.  Protestantism  originated 
through  the  fact  that  a  personality  of  overwhelming  native  force 
arose  with  mighty  power  and  opposed  to  the  ecclesiastical 
order  the  compelling  demands  of  its  own  inner  nature  as  a 
higher  divine  right.  It  cannot  renounce  this  personal  origin, 
nor  the  commanding  place  which  personality  has  held  in  it,  with- 
out surrendering  its  own  raison  d'etre.  But  at  the  same  time  a 
special  content,  a  peculiar  form  of  Christianity,  was  developed 
and  set  up  as  a  norm  for  all.  This  form  clearly  disclosed  the 
contrasts  latent  in  Christianity,  opposed  to  the  earlier  form,  as 
being  too  rationalistic,  a  tendency  toward  the  ethical  and  his- 
torical, and,  by  establishing  an  immediate  relation  of  the  soul 
to  God,  gave  to  life  a  profound  depth.  Still,  it  was  a  particu- 
lar form  that  was  here  developed;  it  required  a  particular  con- 
dition of  the  soul;  it  was  also  modified  in  various  ways  by  the 
individuality,  the  natural  disposition,  even  the  temperament, 
of  the  founders.  Would  it  not  necessarily  become  an  oppressive 
bondage,  if  this  form  were  to  be  binding  upon  all  ?  would  not 
succeeding  generations  lay  claim  to  the  same  right  to  satisfy  their 
religious  needs  which  the  Reformers  exercised,  and  without  which 
there  would  have  been  no  Reformation  ? 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  297 

Protestantism  would  hardly  have  attained  the  position  in  the 
modern  world  which  it  has  attained,  had  it  not  formed  an  alii' 
ance  with  modern  civilisation,  and  were  it  not,  in  so  far,  a  re- 
ligion of  civilisation.  It  is  presented  to  us  as  such  a  religion  by 
German  literature  at  the  period  of  its  highest  development. 
The  specifically  ecclesiastical  element  is  here  as  far  as  possible 
eliminated;  the  sharpness  of  the  contrasts  is  softened  under  the 
influence  of  a  more  joyful  life;  more  cheerfulness  and  trust  in 
human  nature  arise,  and  man  gains  both  greatness  and  worth  in 
himself  and  an  inner  relation  to  others.  At  the  same  time  re- 
ligion in  its  \videst  sense,  as  Panentheism,  continues  to  exert  an 
influence,  and  adds  to  the  earnestness  and  deeper  meaning  of 
life.  A  wide  divergence  from  early  Protestantism  is  here  un- 
mistakable; the  whole  character  of  life  is  essentially  altered. 
Since  the  earlier  form  persists,  and  even  puts  forth  new  life,  the 
Protestantism  of  modern  days  embraces  two  different  religions, 
the  difficulty  of  keeping  which  tolerably  united  increases  in 
proportion  as  the  historical  sense  of  the  nineteenth  century 
brings  the  peculiarity  and  the  antagonism  of  both  forms  more 
distinctly  before  our  eyes.  But  this  duality  is  a  source  of  strength 
in  Protestantism  as  well  as  a  source  of  weakness;  it  is  only  where 
there  is  breadth  like  this  that  it  is  capable  of  keeping  the  two 
poles  of  modern  life  in  a  fruitful  relation;  and  even  if  Protes- 
tantism shows  itself  quite  unprepared  to  grapple  with  the  above 
inner  antagonism,  the  honesty  and  the  sincerity  with  which  it 
takes  up  the  problems,  and  the  whole-souled  energy  which  it 
devotes  to  their  solution,  remain  in  themselves  something  great. 

Their  importance,  indeed,  can  be  fully  appreciated  only  by 
one  who  recognises  the  severity  of  the  conflict  with  modern  civi- 
lisation into  which  Christianity  has  fallen.  In  its  rich  unfolding 
of  life  the  modern  world  has  brought  an  untold  wealth  of  things 
new  and  great,  whose  influence  no  one  can  escape  and  whose 
fruits  we  all  enjoy.  But  with  this  incontestable  gain  there  is 
closely  interwoven  a  characteristic  tendency  which  is  deeply  in- 
volved in  doubt  and  conflict.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  the  modem  world  has  wrought  out  a  new  type 


298  CHRISTIANITY 

of  life  which  departs  widely  from  the  Christian.  A  powerful 
life-impulse  forces  the  thinking  and  the  activity  of  man  more 
and  more  into  the  world  which  Christianity  regarded  as  a  lower 
one;  in  this  world  reason  reigns  or,  wherever  it  is  not  yet  pres- 
ent, the  labour  of  man  seeks  to  create  it;  forces  spring  up  ad 
infinitum,  and  the  increase  of  power  becomes  the  highest  and 
all-sufficient  goal  of  life.  The  greater  the  strength  and  self- 
consciousness  which  this  new  type  acquires,  the  more  evident 
it  becomes  that  it  is  incompatible  with  Christianity,  in  fact,  that 
the  fundamental  tendencies  of  the  two  run  directly  counter  to 
each  other.  Their  peaceable  and  friendly  co-operation,  such  as 
existed  in  earlier  times,  becomes  impossible;  a  clear  understand- 
ing is  increasingly  necessary;  continually  harsher  is  the  rejec- 
tion of  Christianity  by  those  who  follow  the  specifically  modern 
tendency.  But  just  as  the  danger  to  Christianity  seems  to  be 
greatest,  a  turn  of  affairs  completely  changes  the  situation  and 
again  starts  a  movement  in  its  direction.  Faith  in  the  infalli- 
bility and  self -sufficiency  of  modern  civilisation  begins  to  waver; 
modern  life  itself  presents  so  much  that  is  dark  and  evil,  and 
the  increase  of  power  at  the  same  time  yields  such  a  strong  sense 
of  inner  emptiness,  that  the  whole  conduct  of  human  life  be- 
comes again  a  problem,  and  we  are  forced  once  more  to  fight 
for  a  significant  content  of  our  existence.  And  in  the  search  for 
new  aims  Christianity,  with  its  spiritual  depths  and  its  power 
of  reconciling  the  great  antitheses,  may  very  well  assume  a  new 
importance;  it  may  appear  that  it  has  by  no  means  exhausted 
itself,  but  that  in  a  new  form  it  can  still  call  forth  fresh 
forces  which  are  indispensable  to  the  aims  and  struggles  of 
mankind. 

Further  evidence  of  this  may  be  seen  in  the  attitude  of  the 
modern  thinkers  toward  Christianity,  in  so  far  as  they  are  of  a 
constructive  and  substantial  sort,  and  do  not  stop  with  merely 
clever  reflections  and  destructive  criticism.  Their  attitude 
toward  the  ecclesiastical  form  of  Christianity  is  certainly  un- 
sympathetic, if  not  hostile;  yet  no  one  of  them  wishes  to  give  up 
Christianity  entirely;  rather  each  seeks  to  bring  it  somehow 


MODERN  CHRISTIANITY  299 

into  relation  with  his  own  belief,  and  so  through  such  a  connec- 
tion to  strengthen  the  latter;  and  it  is  precisely  with  the  best  in 
his  own  thought  that  he  strives  to  connect  Christianity.  In  this 
way,  each  one  fashions  his  own  Christianity — Spinoza  and 
Leibniz,  Locke  and  Rousseau,  Kant  and  Fichte,  Hegel  and 
Schopenhauer — and  these  several  views  taken  together  give  a 
true  picture  of  the  intellectual  movement  of  modern  times.  If, 
then,  in  spite  of  the  differences,  modern  thinkers  all  adhere  to 
Christianity  in  some  form,  they  must,  indeed,  find  or  feel  in  it 
something  which  modern  civilisation  of  itself  cannot  create.  In 
truth,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that  in  the  work  of  them  all 
there  is  a  spiritual  depth  and  inwardness  and  an  ideal  estimate 
of  things  which  is  less  a  product  of  their  own  thought  than  it  is 
a  result  of  the  traditional  associations  of  the  Christian  life. 

This  borrowed  element  was  earlier  taken  for  granted,  and  it 
merged,  undistinguished,  with  elements  of  another  kind;  now, 
its  separation  and  the  crisis  which  has  come  upon  civilisation  as 
a  whole,  compel  it  to  show  itself  more  distinctly  and  within  more 
clearly  defined  boundaries;  now,  moreover,  Christianity  must 
subject  itself  to  self-examination,  and  distinguish  more  clearly 
between  the  part  which  belongs  to  a  particular  age,  and  the  part 
which  is  able  to  encompass  all  ages  and  continually  to  bring 
forth  new  results. 

Christianity  has  not  spent  itself  in  the  forms  which  have  thus 
far  appeared.  In  the  first  centuries,  it  powerfully  and  consist- 
ently promoted  ethical  concentration  and  the  regeneration  of 
life;  but  the  circles  to  which  its  influence  extended  stood  at  first 
outside  the  civilised  world,  and  its  efforts  showed  more  sub- 
jective warmth  than  intellectual  depth.  With  the  further  decline 
of  antiquity  came  the  period  of  Christian  triumph;  but  Chris- 
tianity developed  into  a  universal  system  only  under  the  resist- 
less sway  of  the  Greco-Roman  world,  which  also  brought  with 
it  all  the  evils  of  a  weary  and  languid  age.  The  Middle  Ages 
presented  the  more  positive  task  of  educating  the  new  peoples, 
but  the  conditions  of  the  time  gave  to  this  work  an  external  and 
compulsory  character;  the  inward  life  languished  beneath  the 


3oo  CHRISTIANITY 

sway  of  organisation;  spirituality  wasted  away  under  the  pro- 
nounced materialism  of  the  religious  life.  In  opposition  to  these 
tendencies  the  Reformation  arose,  and  by  simplifying  Christian- 
ity succeeded  also  in  rejuvenating  it;  but  we  have  just  been  en- 
gaged in  showing  how  little  the  Reformation  meant  a  definitive 
conclusion.  Christianity  next  had  to  protect  the  deeper  content 
of  life  from  the  secular  and  self-conscious  civilisation  of  the 
modern  world;  latterly,  this  civilisation  has  itself  reached  a 
crisis,  from  which  only  a  radical  deepening  of  life  and  an  inner 
renovation  of  man  can  rescue  it:  ever  more  irresistibly  are  we 
driven  back  from  the  ceaseless  activities  of  civilisation  to  the 
problems  of  the  soul,  to  the  struggle  to  make  life  significant  and 
to  preserve  a  spiritual  existence.  These  questions  can  hardly 
be  taken  up  and  profitably  discussed  without  the  problem  of 
religion  coming  to  the  fore;  and  in  the  new  century  this  prob- 
lem will  presumably  more  and  more  dominate  men's  minds. 
In  the  result — which  may  not  be  reached  without  serious  catas- 
trophes— it  will  indeed  appear  that  Christianity  not  only  has  a 
great  past  but  also  a  great  future. 


PART  THIRD 

THE  MODERN  WORLD 


A.  GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  MODERN 

WORLD 

A  GENERAL  characterisation  of  the  modern  world  seems  more 
difficult  to-day  than  ever  before.  For  the  very  development  of 
the  modern  idea  has  originated  an  ever-growing  number  of  new 
problems,  and  it  has  become  more  and  more  difficult  to  define, 
in  set  terms,  what  we  mean  by  that  idea.  Postponing,  then,  any 
attempt  at  the  formulation  of  general  principles,  let  us  take  as 
our  starting  point  the  historical  conditions  which  prevailed  at  the 
outset  of  the  modern  period.  The  dawn  of  a  new  life  was  ren- 
dered inevitable  by  the  fact  that  the  traditional  order  had  been 
shaped  by  a  set  of  circumstances  and  feelings  which  were  the 
product  of  their  time  and  could  not  possibly  remain  in  force  for- 
ever. The  peculiarity  of  that  older  outlook  was  the  way  in 
which  it  connected  Christianity — a  Christianity  condensed  into 
an  ecclesiastical  organisation — with  the  ancient  culture.  This 
culture  again  was  the  work  of  special  nations,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  expression  of  a  particular  stage  of  spiritual  develop- 
ment. With  the  appearance  of  new  nations  it  might  easily 
seem  strange  and  unsatisfying.  As  the  spiritual  life  deepened  in 
essential  respects,  it  could  not  but  drive  out  the  old  dogmatism. 
Now  new  nations  had  in  fact  stepped  into  the  world-arena — 
chief  among  them  the  Germanic  races — and  they  were  begin- 
ning to  make  their  spiritual  individuality  increasingly  felt. 
Again,  Christianity  itself  had  become  more  inward,  a  change 
which,  when  fully  realised,  could  not  fail  to  destroy  the  old  easy, 
happy  relations  with  antiquity  which  had  seemed  so  natural  to 
the  Middle  Ages.  In  these  facts  there  lay  already  the  germs  of 
important  reforms.  But  the  change  which  did  most  to  bring 
about  the  final  rupture  was  the  revolution  in  men's  disposition 


304  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

and  feeling  toward  life.  The  old  dogmatism  with  its  claim  to 
finality  and  its  submission  to  ecclesiastical  control  corresponded 
to  the  desires  of  men  who  were  weary  and  self -distrustful,  and 
therefore  credulous  toward  authority  and  eager  after  signs. 
Now,  however,  new  life  and  fresh  courage  had  awakened;  men 
willed  to  stand  on  their  feet  and  look  their  problems  in  the  face; 
they  must  seek  new  ways  for  themselves.  The  break  with  the 
past  and  the  realisation  of  a  new  life  had  become  a  pressing 
necessity. 

And  in  the  break  itself  there  were  already  indications  of  the 
direction  which  the  new  movement  would  take:  it  bade  fair  to 
be  the  direct  opposite  of  the  position  hitherto  maintained.  In 
the  first  place  it  could  start  only  from  individuals,  which  meant 
for  the  individual  a  position  of  independence  and  ascendency 
instead  of  his  being,  as  in  the  Middle  Ages,  merely  a  member  of 
certain  given  corporations,  obliged  to  live  according  to  their 
ordinances.  Secondly,  the  individual  who  had  rejected  the 
traditional  culture  as  unsatisfactory  was  bound  to  believe  in  the 
possibility  of  progress.  Lastly,  it  was  impossible  to  withstand 
an  established  order  sanctioned  by  history,  without  an  active 
faith  in  a  reason  unfettered  by  time  and  place  and  not  limited, 
as  in  the  Middle  Ages,  to  the  work  of  annotating  and  expounding 
historical  tradition.  Thus,  from  the  very  beginning  the  modern 
period  was  inoculated  with  a  germ  of  individualism,  of  belief  in 
progress  and  in  reason.  Taken  as  a  whole,  it  stands  over 
against  the  mediaeval  system  of  Authority  as  a  system  of  Free- 
dom. 

But  the  chief  characteristic  of  modern  endeavour  is  its  interest  in 
the  world  and  its  vigorous  appropriation  of  the  world's  resources. 
This  is  in  obvious  contrast  to  the  closing  period  of  antiquity 
and  the  time  in  which  Christianity  took  shape.  Then  tired  hu- 
manity found  a  support  and  meaning  for  life  only  in  an  escape 
from  the  visible  world  into  a  kingdom  of  faith  and  mystical  emo- 
tion: in  its  effort  to  reach  an  ultimate  unity  it  had  lost  all  joy 
in  variety.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  the  new  life-impulse 
urges  us  with  all  its  force  out  into  the  world;  we  want  a  larger 


GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  305 

life :  we  want  to  come  to  close  quarters  with  things  and  wrestle 
with  their  contradictions.  The  sentimental  life  of  faith  and 
emotion  yields  place  to  diligent  work  and  manly  activity:  the 
whole  aspect  of  existence  is  transformed.  But  this  new  life 
which  at  first  might  seem  so  simple  soon  proves  to  be  terribly 
complicated.  Its  aim  is  to  bring  the  soul  and  the  world  into 
closest  intimacy,  to  make  life  world-embracing,  to  draw  the 
world  into  the  very  being  of  man;  surely  no  easy  task,  now  that 
profound  spiritual  upheavals  have  so  widely  estranged  life  from 
the  world,  and  sunk  it  so  deeply  within  itself.  Moreover,  mod- 
ern scientific  thought  begins  to  perceive  that  the  soul  is  not  im- 
mediately akin  to  the  world  about  us,  and  that  the  one  cannot 
therefore  directly  influence  the  other,  as  the  older  view  main- 
tained. If,  however,  a  deep  chasm  makes  itself  felt  between  the 
two  and  a  mutual  adjustment  is  necessary  to  bridge  the  gulf,  then 
the  old  simple  view  of  reality  becomes  impossible;  the  world 
which  was  man's  without  effort,  he  must  now  build  up  with 
unutterable  labour  and  toil.  We  already  see  that  modern  life  is 
no  peaceful  possessing  and  unfolding,  but  rather  a  ceaseless 
conflict,  a  struggle  for  the  very  foundations  of  its  existence. 

A  sharp  opposition  has  indeed  arisen,  an  implacable  strife. 
The  desired  union  of  soul  and  world  may  be  understood  in  two 
radically  different  ways.  It  may  be  held,  on  the  one  hand,  that 
the  soul  absorbs  and  assimilates  the  world;  on  the  other,  that 
the  world  absorbs  and  assimilates  the  soul.  Hence  arise  two 
fundamentally  different  systems  of  reality:  the  idealistic  and 
the  realistic.  Each  is  profoundly  influential,  and  modifies 
essentially  the  whole  aspect  of  existence.  The  soul  cannot  seek 
to  subdue  the  world  to  itself  without  experiencing  a  widening  of 
its  own  nature.  Spiritual  endeavour  frees  itself  from  a  merely 
personal  standpoint,  and  so  far  as  possible  abstracts  from  the 
specific  limitations  of  this  or  that  nationality  or  religion.  The 
spiritual  life  is  now  concentrated  upon  what  is  most  universal  in 
its  nature  and  upon  its  own  untrammelled  energies;  it  is  impelled 
only  by  its  own  inward  necessities.  This  change  is  more  particu- 
larly noticeable  in  the  greatly  increased  influence  which  thought 


306  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

exercises  in  modern  life.  More  than  ever  before  is  thought  the 
impelling  and  guiding  force  of  our  civilisation.  Ends  and  means 
are  all  discussed  beforehand,  possibilities  all  considered,  life 
mapped  out  in  advance  and  lived  in  anticipation.  Mental  con- 
structions, ideas,  principles — these  form  the  nucleus  of  our 
modern  life;  the  whole  realm  of  existence  is  steeped  in  them; 
on  all  sides  we  see  theories  paving  the  way  for  actual  movements, 
increasing  their  power,  inspiring  them  with  passion.  More  than 
ever  before  is  human  life  moulded  and  swayed  by  thought. 

But  hardly  less  important  is  the  transformation  effected  from 
the  other  side,  arising  out  of  the  development  of  a  world  which 
stands  independently  over  against  man  and,  so  far  as  possible, 
brings  him  under  its  control.  All  that  human  imagination  and 
desire  has  projected  into  the  things  about  us  is  now  regarded  as 
a  distortion  of  their  real  nature  and  is  therefore  ruthlessly  ex- 
pelled. Only  through  such  rigorous  elimination  of  the  subjective 
does  nature  for  the  first  time  become  in  herself  a  great  con- 
nected whole.  For  the  first  time  man's  dependence  on  her, — 
nay,  more,  the  fact  that  he  is  a  part  of  her, — receives  complete 
recognition.  But  it  is  ever  the  influence  of  the  outer  upon  the 
inner  which  is  increasingly  emphasised :  the  soul  appears  to  be 
sustained  entirely  from  without,  its  whole  happiness  seems  to 
depend  on  its  relation  to  the  environment.  Movements  of  this 
kind  open  up  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  fact,  and  are  a  stimulus 
to  incessant  work.  Now  for  the  first  time  man's  life  and  effort 
seem  placed  on  a  secure  footing."  Deceptive  illusion  is  replaced 
by  the  full  light  of  truth,  subjective  arrogance  by  a  humble  rec- 
ognition of  limits.  Thus  we  have  the  development  of  a  realistic 
culture,  which  first  wins  its  way  to  full  independence,  and  then 
proceeds  to  claim  exclusive  rights.  It  even  undertakes  to  sat- 
isfy completely  the  ideal  needs  of  man,  interpreting  them,  it  is 
true,  in  a  sense  very  different  from  that  of  the  old  tradition.  So 
in  modern  life  we  have  a  two-sided  development,  two  systems  of 
reality  with  opposite  tendencies  and  totally  different  content 
waging  incessantly  a  more  or  less  open  strife.  It  is  only  a  shal- 
low, smooth-faced  optimism  that  can  hope  to  reconcile  easily  and 


GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  307 

quickly  such  diametrically  opposite  positions.  A  genuine  tran- 
scendence of  the  opposition,  necessitating  a  thorough-going 
transformation  of  the  whole  aspect  of  the  world,  has  been  the 
goal  aimed  at  on  all  the  highest  levels  of  modern  life.  But  that 
no  final  conclusion  has  been  obtained,  nor  even  so  much  as  a 
firm  foothold,  can  scarcely  be  denied  by  any  who  have  thrown 
themselves  whole-heartedly  into  the  confused  and  conflicting 
movements  of  the  present  time. 

Such  an  inner  contradiction  together  with  the  constantly  re- 
newed effort  to  overcome  it,  stamps  the  modern  period  with  a 
character  of  incessant  movement  and  stormy  unrest.  It  is  a 
period  which  not  only  contains  individual  problems  without 
number;  its  whole  being  is  a  problem;  it  is  continually  absorbed 
in  the  struggle  to  understand  its  own  nature,  its  own  meaning. 
As  a  consequence,  the  life  of  the  modern  individual  is  incom- 
parably more  unfinished,  unstable  and  prone  to  disturbance 
than  was  the  case  in  earlier  epochs.  Amid  such  agitations  it  is 
easy  to  understand  the  longing  that  arises  for  the  greater  rest 
and  fixity  of  earlier  times.  It  is  the  unrest  of  the  New  which,  to 
the  partisans  of  the  Old,  is  its  bitterest  reproach,  and  the  reason 
why  they  so  emphatically  reject  it. 

But  however  comprehensible  such  a  train  of  thought  may  be, 
it  is  none  the  less  perverse.  The  upheavals  of  the  age  have 
brought  into  view  a  whole  new  realm  of  fact,  and  the  entire 
character  of  life  has  fundamentally  changed.  Our  early  crudi- 
ties have  been  clearly  exposed  and  we  can  never  return  to  them. 
We  all,  without  distinction  of  party,  accept  and  profit  by  the 
great  results  of  the  new  way  of  thinking;  and  this  we  cannot  do 
without  honouring  the  will  and  the  effort  which  inspire  it.  The 
great  perplexities  in  which  we  find  ourselves  are  not  due  to  the 
arbitrariness  and  self-assertiveness  of  man.  They  are  rather 
imposed  upon  him  by  the  historical  evolution  of  the  spiritual 
life.  And  if  there  has  been  a  loss  in  certainty,  peace  and  com- 
fort, there  has  been  a  corresponding  gain  in  freedom,  breadth 
and  largeness.  In  the  courageous  facing  of  problems  there  is 
more  truth  than  in  that  older  attitude  which  bore  the  semblance 


3o8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

of  attainment  without  the  reality,  that  temper  which  uncritically 
placed  man  in  a  class  apart,  that  mood  which  attained  repose 
not  by  vanquishing  but  by  ignoring  the  contradictions  of  our 
existence. 

So,  in  spite  of  its  uncertainty  and  contradictions,  in  spite  even 
of  its  mistakes,  we  will  rejoice  in  the  new  age  as  embodying 
a  higher  form  of  life,  and  in  this  spirit  trace  its  strivings  up- 
ward step  by  step,  not  in  slavish  obeisance  to  everything  "mod- 
ern," but  in  eager  search  for  the  vein  of  truth  which  runs  through 
all  human  error. 

B.  THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD 

I.  THE  RENAISSANCE 
(a)  The  Fundamental  Characteristics  of  the  Renaissance 

The  brilliant  researches  of  distinguished  scholars  have  made 
it  quite  clear  that  the  Renaissance  is  by  no  means  to  be  under- 
stood as  a  mere  return  upon  classical  antiquity,  but  first  and 
foremost  as  a  development  of  the  modern  spirit.  Italy  is  the 
soil  in  which,  owing  to  favourable  circumstances,  the  new  life 
first  breaks  through,  so  that  its  more  general  features  are  closely 
blent  with  the  typical  Italian  peculiarities.  Still  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  men  to  feel  themselves  so  near  to  classical 
antiquity  and  to  link  it  so  closely  to  their  own  creations,  had 
there  not  been  a  real  kinship  in  important  features  which  allowed 
the  present  and  the  past  to  join  hands  over  the  gulf  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  We  will  first  examine  these  common  features. 

The  Renaissance  resembles  antiquity  in  the  value  it  sets  upon 
the  world  and  secular  labour.  The  withdrawal  of  life  into  a 
cloistered  seclusion  remote  from  the  world, — the  final  result  of 
the  old  Christianity, — can  no  longer  attract  the  eager  upward 
striving  of  the  youthful  spirit.  Ever  more  and  more  irresistibly 
does  it  feel  itself  drawn  toward  the  world  till  its  centre  of  gravity 
is  altogether  transferred  thither,  and  the  image  of  that  other 
world  grows  more  and  more  dim.  This  change  comes  about 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  309 

less  through  a  sharp  break  than  by  a  gradual  transition.  Re- 
ligion is  not  overtly  attacked  and  disavowed,  but  it  is  stripped 
of  the  stern  inflexible  majesty  with  which  it  swayed  the  men  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  It  acquires  something  akin  to  the  immediacy 
that  belongs  to  the  intuitions  and  impressions  of  sense.  Its  di- 
vinities take  on  a  purely  human  shape,  and  move  as  friends  in 
our  midst.  In  intercourse  with  the  divine,  human  nature  is  ex- 
alted; the  distance  between  the  two  worlds  lessens;  the  human 
is  no  longer  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  divine,  but  is  rather  its 
expression  and  its  mirror.  It  is  mainly  art  which  thus  transfig- 
ures the  world  and  makes  it  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  temporal 
home  for  man.  But  its  exaltation  of  the  Here  in  no  wise  inter- 
feres with  its  belief  in  a  Beyond,  and  this,  too,  it  invests  with 
the  most  human  and  attractive  features.  Both  worlds  are  so 
steeped  in  the  joy  of  being  that  no  contradiction  between  them 
can  yet  be  realised.  So,  for  example,  in  the  chapel  of  the  Medici, 
side  by  side  with  the  artistic  idealisation  of  the  Here,  we  have 
the  most  living  portrayal  of  a  glorious  Beyond.  Such  a  mood 
sees  nothing  incongruous  in  a  simultaneous  enthusiasm  for  an- 
tiquity and  for  Christian  piety.  The  new  Academy,  the  highest 
philosophical  creation  of  the  Renaissance,  feels  no  hesitation  in 
the  attempt  to  establish  complete  harmony  between  antiquity 
and  Christendom. 

But  the  change,  hidden  though  it  be  from  consciousness,  is 
yet  there  and  its  leaven  is  at  work.  The  world  in  itself,  the 
"Here,"  is  depicted  as  a  more  coherent  and  self-subsistent  whole: 
its  outer  and  inner  aspects,  so  long  at  strife,  seek  a  fresh  recon- 
ciliation. Nature  becomes  again  instinct  with  spirit,  the  con- 
ception which  antiquity  had  defended  to  its  latest  breath.  Still 
more  important  for  the  conduct  of  life  is  the  development  of  a 
spiritual  medium  other  than  the  Church,  a  lay-circle  absorbed 
in  its  own  fresh  interests  and  problems,  and  forming  itself  into 
a  close  inner  fellowship,  first  in  Italy,  and  then  in  the  whole  of 
Western  Europe. 

The  spirit  of  antiquity  seems  again  to  emerge  in  a  renewed 
respect  for  form.  We  saw  that  the  old  Christianity,  repelled  by 


310  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  polished  emptiness  of  form  characteristic  of  the  post-classi- 
cal period,  and  bent  only  upon  the  salvation  of  the  immortal 
soul,  gave  all  its  attention  to  subjective  feeling  and  discarded 
form  as  something  of  little  or  even  of  doubtful  worth.  The 
danger  of  barbarism  was  already  impending,  a  danger  which 
waxed  greater  as  the  old  culture  declined,  till  in  the  Middle 
Ages  all  spirit  was  like  to  be  stifled  beneath  a  shapeless  incubus 
of  matter.  Now  again  comes  the  reaction :  form  wins  back  its 
old  importance :  with  the  fresh  energy  of  youth  men  gird  them- 
selves to  the  task  of  overcoming  all  non-spiritual,  formless  con- 
fusion, making  clear  distinctions  and  fearless  selections,  and 
blending  the  chosen  material  anew  into  a  thoroughly  systematic 
shape.  It  is  in  this  process  that  the  transition  is  first  made  from 
a  crude  nature-conception  to  spirituality,  that  the  world  becomes 
subject  to  man  and  the  whole  of  existence  filled  with  an  exalted 
joy.  A  development  in  this  sense  now  becomes  the  all-compre- 
hensive ideal  of  life,  and  from  this  point  onward  its  influence 
extends  in  every  direction  through  the  whole  of  the  modern 
period. 

But  however  closely  the  Renaissance  may  touch  antiquity, 
there  remains  an  essential  difference.  What  to  the  ancients  had 
been  a  primitive  natural  outlook,  adopted  by  each  and  all  as  a 
matter  of  course,  had  now  to  be  expressly  striven  for,  and  could 
only  be  won  at  the  cost  of  a  bold  violation  of  immediate  tradi- 
tion. The  whole  process  becomes  more  conscious  and  aggres- 
sive, and  defines  itself  through  the  very  oppositions  it  encounters : 
the  movement  toward  the  objective  world  of  form  is  like  a  re- 
turn after  long  wandering  to  an  abiding  truth,  like  the  joy  of 
recovery  after  serious  illness.  Here  the  more  pronounced  de- 
velopment of  the  subject,  which  is  the  most  important  charac- 
teristic of  the  Renaissance,  is  already  apparent.  We  see  it  sep- 
arating itself  more  confidently  from  the  environment,  meeting 
it  more  freely,  asserting  its  own  power  more  fully.  It  even  be- 
comes the  central  point  of  life,  viewing  everything  hi  relation  to 
itself,  and  transforming  all  that  is  presented  to  it  in  accordance 
with  its  own  nature. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  311 

It  is  by  no  means  easy  to  give  an  account  of  the  way  in  which 
the  modern  spirit  has  contrived  to  realise  along  the  lines  of  the 
Renaissance  its  own  distinctive  character.  Two  influences  are 
here  at  work:  one,  the  outcome  of  a  long  historical  process;  the 
other,  born  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  responsive  and  susceptible 
Italian  temperament.  In  the  first  place,  the  old  culture  was  not 
so  dead  in  Italy  but  that  it  could,  by  dint  of  a  little  energy,  be 
again  stirred  into  life.  Moreover,  the  Middle  Ages  had  not  left 
such  a  strong,  deep  impress  here  as  in  the  north.  Then,  too,  there 
were  the  peculiar  political  relations,  in  themselves  so  extremely 
unfortunate;  the  splitting-up  of  states  into  factions,  the  weaken- 
ing and  overthrow  of  lawful  powers,  whereby  the  individual 
was  thrown  back  upon  his  own  strength  and  judgment.  In 
Italy  for  the  first  time,  we  see  the  position  of  an  individual  de- 
termined not  by  his  membership  of  a  certain  class,  or  corporation 
or  guild,  but  by  his  own  character,  free  from  all  fetters  of  exter- 
nal authority.  No  longer  does  his  social  position  make  him 
merely  a  sample  of  a  particular  type,  stamping  upon  him  certain 
distinctive  features,  and  directing  his  activity  along  lines  which 
leave  him  no  choice.  He  can  move  freely,  and  throw  his  own 
individuality  into  his  creations.  There  is  greater  vigour  and 
distinctness  of  individual  development  than  ever  before.  How 
very  much  more  forceful  and  vivid  are  the  characters  of  the 
early  Renaissance  than  those  of  the  Middle  Ages  with  their  con- 
ventionality and  uniformity! 

Dante  here  marks  a  real  transition.  As  far  as  material  goes, 
he  belongs  completely  to  the  Middle  Ages :  his  masterpiece  pro- 
claims him  as  the  truest  disciple  of  that  most  mediaeval  of  think- 
ers, Thomas  of  Aquino.  But  at  the  same  time  he  feels  and 
creates  with  such  independence  and  mastery,  he  puts  so  much 
passion  into  his  thinking,  and  pours  over  the  universe  such  a 
seething  tide  of  love  and  hate,  that  with  him  we  feel  ourselves 
entirely  upon  modern  ground. 

But  we  cannot  hope  to  understand  the  force  which  has  en- 
abled the  modern  individual  to  re-create  his  world,  and  the 
extraordinary  success  of  his  emancipating  work  among  the  na- 


3i2  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

tions,  unless  we  take  into  due  consideration  the  forces  at  work 
in  the  larger  arena  of  the  world's  history.  The  reality  of  the 
inward  life  was  no  fresh  discovery.  It  was  a  truth  which  the 
dosing  period  of  antiquity  had  already  grasped,  albeit  with  pain 
and  effort.  As  a  subordinate  or  side  issue  it  had  been  faithfully 
preserved  by  the  Middle  Ages,  and  nowhere  more  so  than  in  the 
life  and  speculation  of  the  mystic.  But  now  it  feels  itself  strong 
enough  to  transcend  its  chrysalis-state  and  wing  its  flight  through 
the  world.  The  individual  has  promise  of  an  infinity  within  his 
own  being  and  is  given  an  infinite  universe  wherein  to  unfold  it. 
So  the  movement  toward  a  more  inward  life,  that  legacy  of  a 
dying  world,  now  becomes  the  germ  of  a  great  future,  full  of  un- 
limited possibilities  and  problems. 

It  is  chiefly,  however,  in  the  more  definite  understanding  with 
the  world,  in  the  clearer  distinction  of  the  boundaries  between 
the  world  and  self,  that  the  greater  independence  of  the  modern 
subject  is  apparent.  The  growth  is  two-sided :  as  the  spiritual 
life  becomes  more  inward,  we  have  a  richer  and  more  forceful 
development  of  the  object-world.  The  interaction  of  the  world 
and  self  makes  life  incomparably  fresher,  more  alive  and  more 
substantial.  "In  the  Middle  Ages  both  aspects  of  conscious- 
ness— that  which  faces  the  world,  and  that  which  looks  toward 
man's  own  inner  life — lay  dreaming  or  but  half-awake  beneath 
a  veil  which  shrouded  them  each  alike.  The  veil  was  woven  of 
belief,  childish  prejudice,  and  illusion:  the  world  and  history 
as  seen  through  its  meshes  were  indeed  wonderfully  coloured, 
but  himself  man  could  see  only  as  race,  nation,  faction,  corpora- 
tion, family,  or  in  some  other  universal  shape.  In  Italy  first 
this  veil  is  lifted;  the  state  and  the  things  of  this  world  generally 
begin  to  be  viewed  and  treated  objectively;  but  at  the  same  time 
the  subjective  asserts  its  rights,  the  man  becomes  a  spiritual 
individuality  and  knows  that  he  is  such"  (Burckhardt). 

This  clearer  distinction  of  man  from  his  environment  results 
in  a  bolder  and  freer  exercise  of  all  his  spiritual  powers.  Re- 
flection becomes  a  pioneer,  opening  up  new  paths,  everywhere 
deliberating  and  calculating,  believing  itself  able  to  make  things 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  313 

from  out  its  own  content — for  example,  to  build  up  out  of  mere 
theory  the  constitution  of  a  state.  But  this  self-confidence  pre- 
supposes a  close  alliance  with  imagination,  a  soaring  imagina- 
tion, which  ventures  on  bold  syntheses  and  finds  new  links  of 
union  in  apparently  disconnected  phenomena.  Things  may  no 
longer  stay  as  they  are;  man  subjects  them  to  his  criticism, 
proves  his  powers  upon  them,  and  forces  them  to  his  use  or  en- 
joyment. Moreover,  the  life  of  feeling  with  its  demand  for  hap- 
piness is  radically  different  from  the  mediaeval  temper.  It  re- 
fuses to  be  comforted  by  faith  and  hope  in  a  Beyond;  it  demands 
immediate  satisfaction  and  with  heart  aflame  presses  on  to  pos- 
sess its  happiness  in  full. 

But  through  all  this  strengthening  of  his  inward  life,  man's 
mind  still  remains  constantly  in  touch  with  reality,  since  only  so 
can  his  powers  unfold  and  his  life  be  rich  in  content.  Every 
effort  is  made  to  dispel  the  mist  of  traditional  prejudices  and 
to  grasp  things  in  their  true  nature.  It  is  on  the  sure  ground 
of  a  reality  soberly  and  clearly  apprehended  that  man's  own 
activity  finds  footing.  Accordingly,  it  is  everywhere  most  im- 
portant to  begin  by  discovering  the  real  nature  of  things,  defi- 
ning them  more  precisely  and  depicting  them  more  clearly.  In 
this  way  the  world  gains  a  firm  objective  character,  and  for  the 
first  time  it  becomes  possible  to  speak  of  an  objective  world- 
consciousness.  But  this  in  no  wise  detracts  from  the  importance 
of  the  subject:  it  is,  after  all,  from  the  basis  provided  by  the 
subject  that  the  objectifying  process  goes  forward. 

So  subject  and  object  point  to  each  other  for  completion. 
Opposite  poles  of  thought,  they  are  ever  prone  to  hostility.  But 
life  will  attain  its  highest  perfection  where  both  work  together, 
bound  to  each  other  in  a  fruitful  mutual  relation.  And  this  is 
what  happens  in  art,  primarily  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
artist,  but  to  some  extent  from  that  of  the  spectator  also.  For 
as  in  the  domain  of  art  all  inner  impulse  seeks  embodiment,  so, 
too,  the  outward  form  cannot  be  appropriated  until  it  has  been 
animated  with  a  soul.  Thus,  in  beauty,  life  reaches  a  unity  and, 
at  the  same  time,  its  own  completion.  The  alliance  of  strength 


THE   MODERN  WORLD 


and  beauty,  or  better  still,  a  beauty  instinct  with  life,  becomes 
the  all-controlling  ideal. 

In  this  revival  of  beauty  we  cannot  fail  to  see  how  far  we 
have  travelled  from  the  old  conception.  The  beautiful  is  no 
longer  an  affair  of  peaceful  contemplation  and  a  sinking  of  self 
in  the  object.  The  subjective  impulse  is  far  too  active  to  refrain 
from  appropriating  to  itself  its  several  experiences  and  trans- 
forming such  influences  as  exalt  its  life  into  terms  of  personal 
enjoyment.  Moreover,  in  the  old  days  —  at  least  among  the 
greatest  thinkers  —  the  beautiful  was  so  closely  akin  to  the  good 
that  they  could  both  be  united  in  one  single  conception  (fca\bv 
tcayaOov").  If  a  choice  were  made,  it  was  usually  in  favour  of 
the  good.  In  the  Renaissance,  on  the  other  hand,  the  relation 
to  morals  becomes  looser;  the  beautiful  begins  to  occupy  an 
independent  position  over  against  the  good  :  a  code  of  life  arises 
which  is  specifically  aesthetic.  It  is  not  that  art  becomes  un- 
moral, but  that  such  morals  as  it  requires  it  itself  produces,  and 
measures  in  accordance  with  its  own  inner  necessities.  Here 
beauty  fulfils  its  supreme  function  in  ministering  to  life  and  in 
developing  to  the  full  man's  spiritual  capacity.  The  expression 
in  form  serves  to  excite  all  man's  varied  powers  into  pleasurable 
activity.  All  the  riches  of  his  inner  life,  gradually  stored  up 
through  the  ages,  come  now  into  full  possession  and  enjoyment 
through  their  expression  in  art.  What  gives  to  the  art  of  the 
Renaissance  its  abiding  significance  and  power  is  precisely  this, 
that  the  modern  spirit  seeks  and  finds  itself  therein.  The  picture 
is  not  just  a  copy  of  some  definitely  fixed  object:  life  itself  re- 
ceives through  it  a  fresh  impetus.  So  art  gives  birth  to  a  new 
ideal  of  life  :  the  ideal  of  man  is  his  universal  nature,  the  varied 
manifestations  of  his  activity  blending  together  into  one  harmo- 
nious whole. 

But  it  is  only  among  the  few  that  creative  art  can  keep  so 
high  a  level.  Elsewhere  subjective  and  objective,  feeling  and 
performance,  lose  their  balance,  and  the  one  seeks  the  suppres- 
sion and  overthrow  of  the  other.  On  the  one  hand,  there  arises 
the  tendency  toward  pleasure  and  dazzling  display,  a  life  of 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  315 

luxury  and  enjoyment,  dignified  and  tempered,  it  is  true,  by 
artistic  taste,  but  lacking  in  lofty  purpose.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  is  a  separation  of  outward  performance  from  inward  mo- 
tive, an  impulse  to  concentrate  effort  on  the  controlling  of  en- 
vironment, a  movement  toward  the  merely  useful  and  practical. 
This  results  in  a  fruitful  cultivation  of  the  technical  arts,  and  the 
employment  of  mechanical  contrivances  which  prove  very  ser- 
viceable, especially  in  the  hands  of  gifted  individuals;  but  at 
the  same  time,  the  ultimate  aims  of  man  and  his  inward  state 
are  entirely  ignored.  Accordingly,  the  main  current  of  endeavour 
breaks  up  into  different  streams  and  runs  at  very  different  levels. 
But  in  the  end  it  is  one  and  the  same  movement,  embracing  all 
kinds  of  opposite  tendencies,  and  penetrating  every  single  do- 
main of  life,  so  that  its  influence  is  felt  not  only  throughout  the 
wide  regions  of  vigorous,  healthy  growth,  but  often  in  the 
murky  abodes  of  wizardry  and  superstition. 

In  the  first  place,  the  relation  to  the  world  and  to  nature 
undergoes  great  changes.  The  Renaissance  is  the  age  of  travels 
and  discoveries.  It  feels  an  imperative  need  to  bring  every  pos- 
sible sphere  of  real  existence  within  its  own  horizon  and  to  link 
it  with  its  own  life.  Civilised  man  takes  the  earth  for  his  prop- 
erty; as  his  clear  glance  sweeps  its  whole  extent,  he  finds  it  no 
longer  huge  and  overpowering;  he  can  say  proudly  with  Co- 
lumbus: "The  earth  is  small."  In  more  specific  ways,  too, 
reality  is  compelled  to  open  up  its  resources  and  minister  to 
man's  enjoyment.  Botanical  gardens  are  laid  out,  menageries 
exhibited;  in  every  domain  the  outlook  is  enriched  and  new  in- 
terest is  awakened. 

But  the  man  of  the  Renaissance  is  not  content  merely  to  look 
at  nature;  he  must  also  control  her.  Here,  however,  he  is  still 
confined  within  narrow  limits,  and  when  in  the  impetuosity  of 
his  desire  he  overrides  them,  he  falls  into  grievous  errors.  We 
find,  indeed,  some  valuable  pioneer-work  carried  out  in  scien- 
tific research,  and  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century  Italy  stands 
at  the  head  of  Europe  in  mathematics  and  the  natural  sciences; 
also  the  feeling  for  technical  discovery  has  awakened.  But  on 


316  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  whole,  the  treatment  of  nature  still  remains  speculative  and 
subjective;  research  has  as  yet  no  sure  point  to  work  from.  An 
animistic  interpretation  of  nature  prevails;  the  perception  of  her 
conformity  to  law  is  still  wanting,  and  therefore  no  objection  is 
taken  to  the  miraculous.  When,  at  the  same  time,  the  surging 
forces  of  life  are  claiming  full  sovereignty  over  the  external 
world,  it  is  easy  to  understand  how  man  may  be  swept  away  by 
an  unbridled  imagination  and  carried  into  the  gloomy  regions  of 
magic.  Sorcery  and  superstition  wax  more  luxuriant  than  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  Nature,  still  a  closed  book  to  science,  must 
be  outwitted  by  secret  arts  and  forced  into  the  service  of  man. 
But  worst  of  all  was  the  belief  in  witchcraft,  though,  indeed,  it 
was  the  northern  lands  far  more  than  Italy  which  suffered  under 
the  weight  of  this  dread  nightmare  with  its  terrible  history  of 
bloodshed.  A  weakness  for  superstition  and  magic  must  cer- 
tainly be  included  in  any  portrayal  of  the  man  of  the  Renais- 
sance period. 

He  is  far  more  happily  situated  as  regards  the  development 
of  an  artistic  view  of  nature  and  the  spiritual  intercourse  he  can 
now  enjoy  with  her.  The  result  of  these  is  a  permanent  enrich- 
ment of  life.  The  man  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  been  too  de- 
pendent on  his  sense-environment  and  was  far  too  limited  in  his 
perceptions  to  be  capable  of  transcending  his  scattered  impres- 
sions. Later  antiquity  was  in  more  intimate  spiritual  contact 
with  nature,  but  nature  was  still  rather  an  agreeable  kindly 
companion  than  a  means  for  the  inward  expansion  of  man's  be- 
ing. In  the  Renaissance  she  plays  a  far  more  important  r6le,  for 
now  man  begins  to  delight  in  the  beauty  of  scenery;  he  is  con- 
scious of  an  irresistible  impulse  to  depict  it,  and  the  feeling  for 
nature  receives  a  thorough  development  through  the  medium 
of  plastic  art.  The  environment  can  at  last  be  unified  to  form 
a  complete  picture;  a  soul  breathes  through  it  and  pours  out 
upon  man  its  liberating,  calming,  ennobling  influences. 

The  discovery  of  the  world  has  its  counterpart  in  man's  dis- 
covery of  himself.  The  individual  is  possessed  before  all  else 
with  a  passionate  desire  to  realise  his  powers  in  action  and  de- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  317 

velop  them  in  every  direction.  In  all  that  he  does  he  must  dis- 
tinguish himself;  his  achievements  must  be  brilliant,  his  skill 
proved  beyond  a  doubt.  This  is  congenial  soil  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  private  citizen,  the  man  who  separates  himself  from 
all  public  concerns  and  forms  his  own  clique.  But  together  with 
the  growth  of  individualism  goes  a  clearer  knowledge  of  the  in- 
dividual character.  Man  observes  himself  and  his  fellows  with 
greater  exactness,  and  delights  in  clear,  even  trenchant  descrip- 
tion of  what  he  has  observed.  He  seeks  to  trace  the  character- 
istic features  of  persons  and  classes  and  social  relationships. 
Nor  does  he  forget  the  inner  life  in  his  concern  with  the  outer. 
The  delineation  of  the  soul  attains  marvellous  perfection.  So 
man  becomes  an  object  to  himself.  With  clearer,  soberer  reflec- 
tion, unperturbed  by  moral  considerations,  he  determines  to 
search  his  nature  through  and  through  and  measure  its  capacity. 
This  self-knowledge  makes  his  life  more  conscious  and  effective. 
Man's  life  and  action  become  in  a  truer  sense  his  very  own. 

Ordinary  everyday  life  also  suffers  change  and  transformation. 
Everywhere  there  is  a  movement  in  the  direction  of  grace,  beauty 
and  comfort;  everywhere  life  feels  the  moulding  hand  of  art. 
Manners  become  more  refined;  pleasure  is  taken  in  the  beauty 
and  purity  of  speech;  social  intercourse  is  ennobled;  festivals 
link  art  and  life  in  closest  fellowship :  in  every  department  there 
is  a  call  for  the  effective  display  of  strength  and  skill.  This  is 
the  beginning  of  cultivated  society,  in  which  the  individual  has 
free  movement  and  is  valued  in  accordance  with  his  contribu- 
tions to  the  general  entertainment  and  pleasure.  Distinctions 
of  birth  are  ignored,  inequalities  of  classes  levelled :  women  co- 
operate with  men.  All  the  more  exclusively  does  the  cultured 
circle  shut  its  doors  against  outsiders.  Humanity  recognises  a 
new  basis  of  division. 

The  aspect  of  the  state  is  also  completely  transformed:  we 
have  the  rise  of  the  modern  commonwealth,  with  its  civilising 
aims,  its  interest  in  secular  problems  and  its  claim  to  regulate  all 
social  relations.  The  life  of  the  State  is  founded  wholly  on  ex- 
perience, and  is  freed  from  the  invisible  net  of  relations  in  which 


3i8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

medievalism  had  wrapped  it.  The  State  is  no  longer  a  fragment 
of  a  divine  order  which  embraces  the  whole  world;  no  longer  is 
it  an  organism  of  which  individuals  are  the  members;  here 
"there  is  no  feudalism  in  the  northern  sense  with  artificially 
derived  rights"  (Burckhardt).  Politics  are  an  ingenious 
mechanical  contrivance  in  the  hands  of  great  men  or  exclusive 
aristocracies  and  must,  at  all  costs,  be  effective.  An  insatiable 
thirst  for  power,  success,  and  fame  in  the  visible  sphere  sup- 
presses the  moral  judgment  as  a  childish  prejudice.  A  Macchia- 
velli  in  his  rugged  aphorisms  is  only  formulating  the  guiding 
principles  of  his  time.  "Reasons  of  State"  justify  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  age  even  the  most  infamous  actions.  But  at 
the  same  time  there  is  a  development  on  a  large  scale  of  the 
technique  of  political  life.  To  control  the  outside  world  man 
must  have  an  exact  knowledge  of  his  own  powers:  so  in  the 
Italy  of  the  Renaissance  the  science  of  statistics  springs  up. 
And  not  only  is  the  home  government  improved  and  systema- 
tised;  the  relations  with  other  states  demand  more  care  and 
skill.  Italy,  more  especially  Venice,  is  the  home  of  a  "foreign" 
policy.  This  tendency  to  technical  treatment  pervades  each 
and  every  department.  War  now  becomes  an  art  and  presses 
every  fresh  discovery  into  its  service.  In  fortress  building  the 
Italians  are  the  teachers  of  all  Europe.  The  science  of  finance 
is  thoroughly  developed;  the  State  works  enthusiastically  to 
raise  the  general  level  of  well-being,  securing  health  and  com- 
fort in  the  things  of  daily  life,  the  laying  out  of  towns  and  so 
forth.  And  everywhere  reflection  goes  hand  in  hand  with  pleas- 
ure in  creative  activity;  production  is  accompanied  by  descrip- 
tion, reasoning,  criticism.  It  is  especially  Florence  with  its  po- 
litical movements  that  is  at  the  same  time  the  home  of  political 
doctrines. 

Just  as  in  this  department  the  development  of  strength  and 
technical  skill  pushes  the  moral  judgment  far  into  the  back- 
ground, so  too,  generally  speaking,  the  soil  of  the  Renaissance 
is  unfavourable  to  morals.  It  is  not  that  there  is  any  lack  of 
noble,  humane  feeling,  or  of  most  estimable  personalities. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  319 

These  are  present  In  full  measure.  What  is  really  wanting  is  an 
organised  moral  realm  confronting  the  individual,  exercising  re- 
straint upon  his  inclinations,  driving  him  beyond  his  merely 
natural  standpoint.  Instead  of  this,  we  find  everything  depend- 
ing on  the  uncertain  nature  of  the  individual  character.  A  thor- 
oughly noble  disposition  can  utilise  its  freedom  for  the  unfolding 
of  the  fairest  blossoms,  but  there  is  also  plenty  of  room  for 
brute  strength  and  violence  of  the  most  terrible  kind,  for  beasts 
in  the  guise  of  men,  practising  crime  as  their  profession.  The 
average  of  society  shows  a  remarkable  mixture  of  higher  and 
lower,  noble  and  base,  often  united  in  one  and  the  same  person. 
As  soon  as  morality  runs  counter  to  natural  inclination,  she  is 
looked  upon  as  a  force  imposed  from  without,  hindering  man 
from  the  full  unfolding  of  his  powers  and  from  handling  objects 
in  a  natural  way. 

The  most  potent  counteracting  influence  to  lower  cravings  is 
the  desire  of  the  individual  for  fame  and  immortality,  or  even 
for  mere  esteem  in  his  own  circle:  self-respect,  as  we  should 
call  it.  But  this  is  an  incentive  which  concerns  appearance 
rather  than  reality,  and  readily  ministers  not  to  genuine  moral- 
ity, but  to  its  counterfeit.  In  truth,  the  moral  atmosphere  of  the 
Renaissance  is  unclean  through  and  through,  and  not  all  the 
beauty  and  purity  of  its  artistic  productions  can,  in  the  end, 
conceal  even  from  itself  the  moral  abyss  which  threatens  to 
engulf  it.  It  is  this  lack  of  moral  vigour,  and  not  primarily  the 
Reformation  or  the  Anti-reformation  which  has  utterly  unfitted 
the  Renaissance  for  maintaining  the  lead  in  modern  thought. 

To  the  Renaissance  religion  owes  its  close  alliance  with  art 
and  the  consequent  strengthening  of  its  hold  upon  modern  life. 
But  the  general  temper  of  the  Renaissance  is  by  no  means  fa- 
vourable to  religion.  The  mass  of  the  people  remain  sunk  in 
superstition  and  are  influenced  almost  exclusively  by  the  magi- 
cal elements  of  religion,  by  the  heathenism  still  persisting  upon 
Christian  ground.  The  middle  and  higher  classes  combine  a 
strong  antipathy  to  the  works  and  ways  of  the  Church  with  a 
sleek  subserviency  toward  ecclesiastical  authorities.  Nor  can 


320  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

they  altogether  escape  the  influence  of  the  magical  element. 
Especially  would  they  seek  to  have  the  assurance  of  the  sacra- 
ments against  the  event  of  death.  At  bottom,  this  feeling  is 
thoroughly  worldly,  and  it  is  in  the  main  for  worldly  contingen- 
cies that  religion  is  supposed  to  provide.  But  the  passionate  lust 
of  life  and  the  longing  for  fame  and  greatness  in  this  present 
world  make  men  keenly  conscious  of  the  obstacles  which  con- 
front them  and  direct  their  thoughts  to  the  mysterious  ruling  of 
Fate.  If  an  undertaking  is  doomed  to  failure,  it  is  at  least  de- 
sirable to  know  the  result  beforehand  and  direct  plans  accord- 
ingly. So  through  this  radically  faithless,  sceptical  period  there 
runs  a  strongly  marked  vein  of  fatalism,  astrology,  and  even 
magic.  Such  is  the  average  tendency;  but  in  opposition  to  this 
we  find  lofty  natures  and  select  groups  of  thinkers  developing 
a  nobler  and  deeper  religion,  a  religion  for  religion's  sake. 
Here  endeavour  soars  above  all  visible  and  finite  forms;  the 
idea  arises  of  a  universal  religion;  the  spontaneous  joy  in  life 
which  belonged  to  the  Renaissance  is  glorified  and  transfigured 
into  a  religion  which  includes  both  Theism  and  Pantheism: 
Panentheism,  exalting  man  to  life  unending  by  union  with  the 
Godhead.  This  is  the  starting-point  of  influences  which  have 
been  most  productive  for  modern  thought.  But  however  pleas- 
ing and  attractive  are  the  personalities  of  certain  isolated  indi- 
viduals, yet  even  to  them  religion  was  not  so  much  a  matter  of 
moral  conversion  as  of  metaphysical  theory.  Interest  in  the 
fundamental  problems  of  early  Christianity  fades  away  before 
the  speculative  and  aesthetic  contemplation  of  the  universe  and 
the  enlargement  of  existence  which,  it  is  hoped,  will  result 
therefrom.  It  was  inevitable  therefore  that  in  Italy  the  adhe- 
rents of  the  Reformation  should  be  few.  It  is  true  that  these  few 
individuals  were  more  than  usually  strong  in  their  championship 
of  a  freer  and  more  universal  mode  of  thought,  and  they  under- 
stood, too,  how  to  sacrifice  property  and  life  in  its  cause.  But 
they  found  their  true  sphere  of  labour  far  from  their  own  home: 
the  soil  of  the  Renaissance  was  utterly  unfit  to  produce  a 
universal  religious  movement. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  321 

We  must  now  turn  our  attention  to  the  principal  life-philoso- 
phies of  the  Renaissance.  If  it  is  true  that  they  are  not  produc- 
tions of  the  very  highest  rank,  but  halt  wavering  between  the 
old  order  and  the  new,  it  is  likewise  true  that  they  are  rich 
in  suggestive  ideas.  It  is  to  be  understood  as  a  limitation  when 
we  select  three  main  directions  of  thought  and  seek  to  repre- 
sent, in  the  persons  of  their  leaders,  systems  of  cosmic  specula- 
tion, of  human  conduct,  and  of  the  control  of  nature  through 
science. 

(b)  Cosmic  Speculation.    Nicholas  of  Cusa  and  Giordano 
Bruno 

The  truest  philosophical  expression  of  the  Renaissance  is 
contained  in  the  systems  of  cosmic  speculation  which  originated 
with  Nicholas  of  Cusa  and  reached  their  highest  point  of  devel- 
opment with  Giordano  Bruno.  The  former  was  still,  in  many 
ways,  closely  linked  with  the  Middle  Ages,  the  latter  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  a  new  epoch.  The  one  was  an  honoured  Car- 
dinal of  the  Church,  the  other  persecuted  and  burnt  as  a  heretic. 

It  is  the  peculiarity  of  these  thinkers  that  they  tend  to  turn 
away  from  the  problems  of  inward  experience  to  the  universe  at 
large,  hoping  thereby  to  win  a  wider  and  a  truer  life,  and  to  ex- 
change the  narrow  limits  of  man's  personality  for  the  infinity  of 
the  universe.  And  since  it  is  only  as  an  expression  of  the  Divine 
Being  that  the  universe  possesses  such  high  value,  the  surrender 
to  it  has  a  religious  implication  which  invests  it  with  a  spiritual 
glow.  The  Neo-Platonist  and  the  Mystic  also  believed  that  all 
things  had  their  existence  in  God,  the  Absolute  Being.  But 
this  belief  now  operates  very  differently.  In  the  thought  of  the 
world's  union  with  God,  a  world-weary  epoch  had  found  a  mo- 
tive for  swiftly  mounting  to  the  ultimate  Source  of  Being,  and 
withdrawing  from  the  gay  panorama  of  phenomenal  existence 
into  the  unity  of  the  eternal.  But  from  this  same  thought,  a 
generation  full  of  the  joy  of  life  draws  inducement  to  mix  more 
closely  with  the  world  and  to  rejoice  whole-heartedly  in  its 


322  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

riches,  since  God  dwells  in  all  and  from  the  whole  complex  uni- 
verse it  is  His  face  that  looks  out  upon  us.  It  is  the  presence  of 
God  which  now  gives  to  the  world  more  unity,  harmony,  spir- 
ituality. 

Nicholas  of  Cusa  (1401-1464),  of  German  origin,  but  intel- 
lectually a  son  of  Italy,  still  belongs  in  great  part  to  the  Middle 
Ages,  though  the  new  tendencies  are  sufficiently  strong  in  him, 
and  sufficiently  decided,  to  pave  the  way  for  important  changes. 
The  transcendence  of  God  and  the  separation  of  the  world  from 
Him  are  still  maintained.  But  it  is  the  aim  of  speculation  to 
find  some  inner  ground  of  union  between  the  two.  That  Being 
which  in  God  is  one,  is  in  the  world  developed  into  a  manifold. 
"What  is  the  world  other  than  the  manifestation  of  the  invisible 
God,  and  what  is  God  other  than  the  invisibility  of  the  visible?" 
The  created  world  did  not  arise  suddenly  at  some  point  in  time, 
but  prior  to  its  manifestation  existed  eternally  in  God  as  an  in- 
visible potentiality.  God  does  not  work  through  middle  terms, 
such  as  Ideas,  but  is  immediately  active  through  all;  He  alone  is 
"soul  and  spirit"  of  the  whole  world.  As  a  manifestation  of 
infinite  being  the  world  has  no  limits.  But  as  an  expression  of 
the  divine  unity,  it  must,  despite  its  limitlessness,  possess  some 
principle  of  connexion.  It  is  a  principle  of  this  kind  that  Nich- 
olas seeks,  sometimes  picturing  the  world  as  a  harmonious  ar- 
tistic whole — thus  closely  combining  mathematical  and  aesthetic 
conceptions — sometimes  as  a  series  of  steps  mounting  from 
lowest  to  highest  in  an  unbroken  chain.  In  both  conceptions 
alike  the  endeavour  to  see  things  as  a  whole  is  combined  with 
respect  for  the  individuality  of  the  unit;  everything  has  its  set- 
tled place,  and  its  own  peculiar  task.  "Nothing  is  at  bottom 
empty  or  useless  in  Nature.  For  everything  has  its  own  activity. 
Each  manifold  blends  harmoniously  into  a  unity,  just  as  many 
notes  form  one  harmony,  and  many  limbs  one  body.  The  ani- 
mating spirit  unifies  the  whole  body  and  through  the  whole  the 
limbs  and  the  parts."  Here  we  already  have  the  doctrine  usu- 
ally attributed  to  Leibniz,  that  two  things  can  never  be  exactly 
like  each  other,  else  they  would  fall  together  into  one. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  323 

But  the  growth  of  the  individual  existent  is  fostered  more 
especially  by  the  fact  that  it  is  not  a  mere  part  of  the  whole,  but 
can  experience  immediately  for  itself  after  its  own  fashion  the 
infinity  of  being  and  all  the  riches  of  the  universe.  "In  all  that 
is,  God  is  omnipresent;  and  all  that  is,  is  in  God."  Especially 
is  the  human  spirit — the  microcosm — by  virtue  of  its  inner  con- 
nexion with  the  divine  ground  of  all  reality,  "  a  divine  grain  of 
seed  which  carries  within  it  the  original  patterns  of  all  things." 
From  this  point  of  view,  life  would  seem  to  be  the  evolution  of 
an  inward  germ  which  contains  within  itself  the  whole  world;  it 
is  the  creation  of  a  world  from  within.  The  idea  of  develop- 
ment now  begins  to  take  on  the  sense  of  a  progressive  actualisa- 
tion  of  the  potential.  It  is  of  course  not  only  in  the  world  that 
Nicholas  would  seek  God;  to  the  religious  consciousness  the 
supremely  important  thing  is  the  immediate  apprehension  of 
God  Himself,  the  rising  in  mystic  exaltation  to  the  source  of  all 
being.  This  is  in  close  adherence  to  the  old  mystical  idea  that 
evolution  (explicatio),  as  being  a  differentiation  of  unity  into 
multiplicity,  is  an  inferior  process  to  involution  (complicatio), 
which  comprehends  all  multiplicity  in  an  undifferentiated  unity. 
But  Nicholas  is  able  to  allow  more  importance  to  the  life  of  the 
world,  inasmuch  as  he  does  not  separate  it  from  God  by  a  fixed 
gulf,  but  represents  it  as  drawing  constantly  nearer  to  Him  and 
thereby  realising  more  and  more  its  own  nature.  It  is  the  clash 
of  the  eternal  and  the  temporal  within  us,  of  the  infinite  and  the 
finite,  that  gives  such  restlessness  to  our  endeavour  and  at  the 
same  time  fills  us  with  the  certainty  that  we  are  ever  mounting 
upward.  It  is  the  penetration  of  our  existence  by  religious,  even 
mystical,  ideas,  that  has  given  birth  to  the  conception  of  an  in- 
finite progress. 

A  yearning  for  the  Infinite  not  only  possesses  the  human  spirit, 
but  reaches  beyond  it  to  the  world  of  nature  and  sets  that  also 
into  restless  movement.  In  nature  nothing  reposes;  the  earth, 
hitherto  the  firm-established  centre  of  the  universe,  must  now 
move  like  the  other  heavenly  bodies.  Even  the  celestial  pole, 
seemingly  the  most  fixed  point  of  all,  does  not  escape  the  law 


324  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

of  change.  Movement  can  never  cease.  Death  itself  is  but  the 
minister  of  life,  for  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  "separation  through 
which  life  is  communicated  and  multiplied." 

Such  theories  result  in  greatly  altered  conceptions  of  the 
nature  and  value  of  the  phenomenal  world.  Change  and  move- 
ment had  fallen  into  great  disfavour  ever  since  Plato's  time  and 
had  sunk  especially  low  in  the  esteem  of  the  Middle  Ages  which 
set  over  against  this  fluctuating  world-process  the  eternal  rest 
that  is  in  God.  But  now  it  is  precisely  such  change  and  move- 
ment which,  under  the  influence  of  a  fresher  vitality,  win  im- 
portance and  value.  The  world  gains  at  the  same  time  an  added 
significance.  Since  throughout  its  whole  extent  it  rests  upon 
God  and  aspires  after  Him,  nothing  in  it  can  be  an  object  of 
contempt,  and  certainly  not  our  earth,  the  dwelling-place  of  the 
human  spirit. 

The  more  intimate  nature  of  the  activity  of  the  Renaissance 
likewise  reveals  to  us,  despite  its  continuity  with  the  past,  an  en- 
tirely new  temper.  Nicholas  is  at  one  with  Neo-Platonism  and 
Mysticism  in  considering  knowledge  as  man's  most  important 
faculty.  It  is  knowledge  which,  by  penetrating  to  the  very  heart 
of  being,  is  to  effect  its  union  with  God.  The  human  spirit  is  a 
living  mirror  of  the  universe,  a  ray  from  the  divine  light.  But 
the  mystical  contemplation  of  the  infinite  in  which  all  opposi- 
tions are  reconciled  does  not  altogether  satisfy  him;  he  is  also 
dazzled  and  attracted  by  the  infinite  variety  of  life.  And  since  the 
aspiration  after  knowledge  is  closely  blent  with  that  idea  of  an 
endless  progress,  the  thirst  for  wider  and  yet  wider  knowledge 
becomes  the  very  soul  of  life.  "To  be  able  to  know  more  and 
more  without  any  limit,  that  is  to  resemble  the  Eternal  Wisdom. 
Man  would  fain  increase  continually  his  knowledge  of  that 
which  he  knows,  intensify  his  love  for  that  which  he  loves,  and 
the  whole  world  avails  not  to  satisfy  him,  since  it  cannot  still  his 
craving  after  knowledge."  This  struggle  for  knowledge  brings 
out  and  develops  the  true  inner  nature  of  spirit.  "Like  a  fire 
which  is  kindled  from  a  flint,  so  can  the  spirit,  through  the  light 
that  radiates  from  it,  grow  without  limit."  This  new  concep- 


325 

tion  of  spirit  as  a  variable  quantity  capable  of  endless  develop- 
ment supplies  a  powerful  stimulus  to  the  world's  work.  Earthly 
existence  now  has  a  future  of  its  own,  and  not  merely  an  expecta- 
tion of  a  better  world  to  come.  These  are  clearly  approxima- 
tions to  a  new  mode  of  thought. 

It  is  at  the  same  time  true  that  Nicholas  is  still  largely  de- 
pendent on  Scholasticism,  and,  side  by  side  with  most  fruitful 
suggestions,  his  writings  contain  very  fantastic  speculations,  a 
good  deal  of  hazardous  number-symbolism,  and  also  some  edi- 
fying meditations  in  the  devout  style  of  the  mediaeval  legends. 
Moreover,  what  seems  new  in  him  often  proves  to  be  borrowed 
from  Neo-Platonism  and  Mysticism,  even  to  the  very  concepts 
and  imagery.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  we  find  ourselves  on  the 
threshold  of  a  new  world.  For  what  is  really  new  and  is  also 
capable  of  renewing  the  old,  is  the  altered  temper  of  life,  the 
pleasure  in  work  and  creation,  the  attraction  toward  a  world 
full  of  movement  and  beauty,  in  a  word,  the  characteristic  mood 
of  the  Renaissance. 

When  we  turn  from  Nicholas  to  Giordano  Bruno  (1548- 
1600),  the  near  kinship  of  both  thinkers  is  at  once  obvious.  But 
at  the  same  time,  we  cannot  fail  to  notice  a  great  change:  life 
has  gravitated  still  farther  away  from  religion  and  in  the  direc- 
tion of  secular  labour.  God  is  seen  from  the  stand-point  of  tht 
world  rather  than  the  world  from  the  stand-point  of  God.  More- 
over, the  new  thought  is  more  self-conscious  and  has  more  re- 
sistent  power;  it  feels  its  opposition  to  the  old  and  it  takes  up 
the  contest  with  a  boldness  that  borders  on  effrontery.  At  the 
same  time-,  the  Copernican  system,  which  has  such  a  strong 
attraction  for  Bruno,  powerfully  supports  and  confirms  the  new 
tendencies  and  modes  of  feeling.  Once  again  astronomy  shows 
its  power  to  influence  man's  general  outlook  on  the  world  and 
even  the  very  sentiment  and  tone  of  life.  The  belief  that  the 
universe  was  a  closed  system  and  that  the  stars  moved  in  un- 
changing orbits  had  been,  ever  since  Plato's  time,  the  principal 
article  and  support  of  the  creed  which  considered  the  universe 
as  a  self-poised  artistic  whole  governed  by  eternal  and  immu- 


326  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

table  Ideas.  The  new  astronomical  doctrine  of  the  endless  space 
and  incessant  change  of  the  universe  paves  the  way  for  a  com- 
pletely new  conception  of  the  world. 

Bruno,  like  Nicholas,  finds  the  chief  purport  of  life  in  the 
upward  progress  of  the  finite  spirit  to  infinite  being.  He  also 
shares  Nicholas's  idea  that  the  world — the  sphere  of  visible 
being — contains  as  a  developed  manifold  what  exists  in  God  as 
undifferentiated  unity;  and  he  therewith  assigns  a  twofold  trend 
to  man's  endeavour:  while  it  seeks  to  penetrate  through  ap- 
pearance to  reality,  it  should  also  participate  joyously  in  the 
God-pervaded  life  of  the  world.  But  the  centre  of  gravity  has 
now  been  moved  much  nearer  to  the  world;  the  reference  to 
God  often  seems  nothing  more  than  a  mere  device  for  exalting 
the  world  in  itself,  and  looking  upon  it  as  a  whole.  The  divine 
essence  and  energy  are  at  work  inside  things;  it  is  as  the  artificer 
shaping  from  within  that  the  divine  reason  is  extolled.  "  God 
does  not  exist  beyond  and  apart  from  the  things  of  the  world, 
but  is  throughout  present  in  them;  just  as  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  being  in  the  abstract  apart  from  individual  being,  or  nature 
apart  from  natural  things,  or  goodness  apart  from  the  good." 
Thus  the  world  becomes  the  central  concern  of  science,  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  credulous  theologian  and  the  true  philoso- 
pher, according  to  Bruno,  consisting  precisely  in  this,  that  the 
former  in  his  explanations  passes  beyond  nature,  whereas  the 
latter  remains  within  her  boundaries. 

As  a  result  of  the  closer  connexion  between  God  and  the  uni- 
verse, the  qualities  which  Nicholas  in  his  speculations  about 
God  held  to  be  mainly  characteristic  of  Him,  are  now  transferred 
to  the  universe:  infinity,  namely,  and  the  coincidence  of  all 
opposites.  As  in  the  case  of  Nicholas,  it  is  speculative  thought 
which  urges  Bruno  to  assert  the  infinity  of  the  universe:  a  finite 
world,  he  argues,  would  be  unworthy  of  God;  it  is  in  keeping 
with  His  nature  that  He  should  actualise  everything  potential. 
But  this  train  of  thought  now  receives  immense  additional  sup- 
port and  vitality  from  the  new  astronomical  view  of  the  uni- 
verse. It  is  with  Bruno  that  this  view  first  manifests  its  trans- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  327 

forming,  widening  power.  Later  on,  custom  has  deadened  and 
dulled  it,  but  here  it  is  at  work  in  all  its  freshness.  The  old  re- 
stricted view  of  the  universe  is  repudiated  as  far  too  narrow;  so, 
too,  the  idea  of  a  spatial  heaven  beyond  the  stellar  sphere.  World 
upon  world  opens  out  into  the  infinite,  all  full  of  life  and  mo- 
tion, all  manifestations  of  the  Divine  Being.  Men  begin  to  feel 
a  proud  joy  in  their  liberation  from  mediaeval  narrowness,  an 
exalted  bliss  at  sharing  the  life  of  the  immeasurable,  God-per- 
vaded universe.  Over  against  its  expanse  and  fulness,  man's 
particular  sphere  dwindles  into  insignificance.  To  rise  from  our 
lethargy  into  the  pure  ether  of  the  universe,  to  embrace  the  uni- 
verse with  "heroic"  love,  this  it  is  which  constitutes  the  great- 
ness, the  soul  of  our  being.  It  is  here  that  true  morality  lies:  in 
this  heroism,  this  putting  forth  of  our  utmost  energy,  this  tension 
of  our  whole  being  as  it  lays  hold  on  the  infinite;  and  not  in  self- 
renunciation,  self-humiliation,  self-disparagement. 

The  infinite  nature  of  the  universe  has  also  an  inward  char- 
acter of  another  and  more  exalted  kind  than  belongs  to  human 
action.  For  men  are  ever  seeking,  and  must  weigh  and  ponder 
at  every  turn.  The  universe  is  far  removed  from  all  such  un- 
readiness and  vacillation;  the  Supreme  Cause  knows  no  seek- 
ing and  choosing;  it  cannot  do  other  than  it  does.  So  the  oppo- 
sition between  freedom  and  necessity  disappears.  For  real  ne- 
cessity denotes  no  outward  compulsion,  but  the  law  of  one's 
own  nature.  Therefore  "there  is  no  need  to  fear  that  if  the 
Supreme  Cause  acts  according  to  the  necessity  of  nature,  its 
action  is  not  free :  on  the  contrary,  it  would  not  be  acting  freely 
if  it  acted  in  any  other  way  than  that  demanded  by  necessity  and 
nature;  or  rather,  by  the  necessity  of  nature."  So  over  him 
and  around  him,  man  beholds  a  truer  life  than  his,  far  removed 
from  the  complications  of  his  own  experience.  But  he  can  learn 
through  thought  to  lay  aside  all  littleness  and  grasp  this  univer- 
sal life. 

With  Bruno,  however,  the  surrender  to  the  universe  is  closely 
connected — though  not  in  equal  measure  at  all  stages  of  his  lit- 
erary activity — with  his  recognition  of  monads,  that  is,  of  units 


328  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

differing  from  each  other,  indivisible,  indestructible.  These 
units  are  not  mere  points  without  content,  but  each  of  them  has 
"within  itself  that  which  is  all  in  all."  Each  has  a  share  in  the 
whole  universe,  but  has  it  in  a  unique  and  peculiar  way.  Each 
through  the  development  of  its  own  life,  contributes  to  the  per- 
fection of  the  universe.  Finally,  each  possesses  the  certainty  of 
imperishability.  For  so-called  life  and  death  are  merely  phases 
in  its  being,  an  evolution  and  involution,  very  much  as  Leibniz 
believed  at  a  later  period.  "Birth  is  the  expanding  from  the 
centre,  life  the  period  of  the  circle's  fulness,  death  the  contrac- 
tion back  into  the  centre."  Such  imperishability,  however,  does 
not  assert  the  continuance  of  precisely  this  form  of  life;  the  in- 
destructibility of  the  natural  existence  is  no  personal  immortality 
in  the  Christian  sense.  But  it  is  a  true  philosophical  expression 
of  that  exalted  vitality  which  permeated  the  Renaissance  and 
gave  to  the  individual  also  the  consciousness  of  being  imper- 
ishable. 

As  here,  so  everywhere,  we  have  a  manifest  endeavour  to 
overcome  the  oppositions  of  existence  without  overstepping  the 
limits  of  this  world.  Things  long  sundered  feel  again  the  full 
force  of  mutual  attraction.  The  universe,  according  to  Bruno, 
knows  no  divorce  of  inner  from  outer,  of  bodily  from  spiritual. 
For  not  only  do  these  oppositions  spring  in  last  resort  from  the 
same  root,  but  even  in  the  realm  of  experience,  spirit  is  nowhere 
absent.  The  greatest  and  the  smallest  things  alike  possess 
a  soul,  just  as  all  soul-life  is  bound  up  with  bodily  existence. 
Likewise  form  and  matter  are  inextricably  blent  in  the  processes 
of  nature;  form  is  not  added  to  matter  from  without,  and  matter 
is  not  a  mere  empty  potentiality,  that  "next  to  nothing,"  as  the 
Middle  Ages  termed  it,  following  Augustine;  but  form  is  im- 
plicit in  matter  and  matter  is  moulded  by  it  fron?  within.  Herein 
lies  the  superiority  of  nature  to  art,  that  art  employs  a  foreign 
material  whereas  nature  works  with  her  own;  art  works 
around  (circa)  its  material,  nature  within  it. 

So  nature  reveals  herself  as  full  of  life  and  energy.  But  at 
the  same  time,  the  older  conception  of  the  universe  as  an  artistic 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  329 

whole  is  preserved  and  rejuvenated.  Life  and  beauty  are 
closely  united,  not  only  in  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Renaissance, 
but  also  in  the  cosmic  theory  of  its  greatest  philosopher.  With 
all  its  movement,  the  world  is  yet  a  splendid  work  of  art,  whose 
harmony  is  undisturbed  by  the  difference  and  discord  of  the 
parts.  Indeed,  the  harmony  itself  demands  a  plurality  of  parts; 
for  "  there  can  be  no  order  where  there  are  no  differences."  We 
cannot  understand  connection  without  difference  nor  the  One 
without  the  Many,  nor  the  manifold  save  from  the  stand-point  of 
the  One.  "It  is  a  subtle  magic  which  after  finding  the  point  of 
unity,  is  able  to  elicit  the  opposition." 

In  this  converging  of  all  things  toward  universal  harmony 
we  have  a  motive  that  can  lift  men  clear  above  all  the  injustices 
and  suffering  of  existence.  Once  again  it  is  the  realm  of  thought 
which  is  expected  to  effect  a  full  conciliation  with  reality.  In  the 
universe  viewed  as  a  work  of  art,  everything  shows  itself  to  be 
useful,  beautiful  and  reasonable.  "Nothing  in  the  universe  is 
so  trifling  as  not  to  contribute  to  the  completeness  and  perfec- 
tion of  the  highest.  So,  too,  there  is  nothing  bad  for  certain 
people  and  in  certain  places  which  would  not  be  for  other  people 
and  in  other  places  good,  and  even  best.  So  to  him  who  has 
regard  to  the  whole  universe  nothing  will  appear  base,  evil,  and 
inadequate;  for,  despite  all  plurality  and  contradiction,  every- 
thing is  best  as  it  is  arranged  by  Nature,  which,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  choirmaster,  guides  the  different  voices  into  a  harmony, 
and  that  the  best  possible  harmony."  It  is  as  supplying  the 
link  between  perfect  beauty  and  boundless  vitality  that  Nature 
is  the  true  object  of  religious  worship.  "Not  in  the  littleness 
and  meanness  of  human  things  is  God  to  be  sought  and  revered, 
not  in  the  base  mysteries  of  our  Roman  decadents  (romanti- 
corum  villa  mysteria},  but  in  the  inviolable  law  of  nature,  in  the 
splendour  of  the  sun,  in  the  shape  of  the  things  that  spring  forth 
from  our  Mother  Earth,  in  the  true  image  of  the  Supreme  as  it 
reveals  itself  in  the  countless  living  things  which,  on  the  fringe 
of  the  one  immeasurable  heaven,  have  light  and  life  and  feeling 
and  knowledge,  and  acclaim  the  One  Best  and  Highest."  This 


330  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

worship  of  nature  as  the  true  kingdom  of  God  had  a  very  pow- 
erful attraction  for  Bruno  personally,  and  he  turned  to  it  with 
all  the  force  of  his  ardent  disposition;  whereas  the  inner  prob- 
lems of  the  religious  life,  as  also  the  historical  and  ecclesiastical 
elements  of  religion,  left  him  wholly  untouched.  It  was  his 
misfortune,  however,  to  belong  to  an  age  entirely  absorbed  in 
dogmatic  controversy. 

By  way  of  appreciation  and  criticism  of  this  world  of  thought, 
we  may  subjoin  the  following  remarks.  Bruno's  was  a  mind 
full  of  resource  and  suggestiveness,  whence  proceeded  much  that 
was  liberating  and  inspiring:  he  gave  philosophical  expression 
to  the  main  tendencies  of  the  Renaissance;  and  finally,  a  mar- 
tyrdom met  with  heroic  endurance  casts  a  splendour  over  his 
whole  life.  But,  except  by  such  as  measure  greatness  by  the 
intensity  of  a  man's  opposition  to  the  Church,  he  cannot  be 
considered  a  great  thinker.  For,  with  Bruno,  thought  is  not 
in  process  of  passing  out  of  a  tumultuous  confusion  into  a  state 
where  all  is  sifted  and  clear.  That  universe  which  is  to  be  the 
means  of  emancipation  from  the  smallness  of  the  merely  human, 
fancy  peoples  once  again  with  powers  that  are  but  faded  repro- 
ductions of  the  human  form.  The  world  is  resplendent  as  the 
reflection  of  divinity,  but  this  divinity  is  soon  again  enslaved  and 
absorbed  by  the  world.  We  have  here  that  nature-worship 
which  reflects  the  aesthetic  feelings  of  the  Renaissance  in  regard 
to  nature,  but  in  itself  is  a  strange  and  hybrid  phenomenon. 

And  if  there  is  a  contradiction  involved  in  the  relationship  of 
the  world  to  God,  there  is  likewise  a  contradiction  in  regard  to 
the  world  itself:  the  contradiction  between  an  aesthetic  and  a 
dynamic  point  of  view.  In  the  artistic  conception  of  nature 
which  we  find  in  ancient  Greece,  there  is  no  life  without  form, 
and  everything  has  its  clear  delimitation.  Now  form  loses  its 
immutability  and  the  tide  of  life  flows  limitless  and  free;  but  at 
the  same  time,  the  old  aesthetic  view  still  persists,  nay,  is  preached 
with  more  than  ordinary  fervour.  The  contradictions  are  not 
really  overcome;  they  are  simply  left  side  by  side.  It  is  unmis- 
takably an  age  of  transition. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  331 

At  the  same  time  we  must  not  depreciate  the  liberating, 
quickening  influences  of  the  Renaissance,  even  on  its  intellectual 
side;  only  we  must  not  forget  that  if  much  is  won,  much,  too, 
is  lost,  and  that  what  we  are  given  is  boldness  of  outline  rather 
than  well-elaborated  construction. 

(c)  The  Art  of  Human  Conduct.    Montaigne 

The  emancipation  of  the  individual  is  one  of  the  main  issues 
of  the  Renaissance.  The  movement,  however,  develops  differ- 
ently in  the  different  countries.  In  Italy  it  is  attracted  toward 
what  is  great,  strong,  superhuman,  thereby  precipitating  fierce 
conflicts  with  the  environment.  In  France  the  national  genius 
gives  it  a  tone  which,  if  less  high-pitched  and  heroic,  is  far 
more  moderate  and  amiable.  In  Italy,  again,  the  individual's 
teeming  energies,  spurning  restraint,  enter  into  conflict  with  the 
infinity  of  the  universe;  in  France,  the  plea  for  independence 
and  freedom  of  movement  does  not  challenge  the  stability  of 
the  existing  order.  Once  more,  the  Italian  thinkers  are  inter- 
ested in  seeking  a  point  of  contact  with  Neo-Platonism,  which 
appeals  to  them  through  its  identification  of  God  with  the  uni- 
verse, and  its  exaltation  of  man  as  a  world-embracing  micro- 
cosm; whereas  the  French  feel  most  natural  kinship  with  the 
hedonism,  epicureanism  and  scepticism  of  the  post-classical 
epoch,  with  such  tendencies  as  emancipate  the  individual  from 
all  enslaving  fetters  and  redeem  life  from  its  drudgery  by  trans- 
forming it  into  an  art.  The  most  prominent  representative  of 
this  movement  is  Michel  Montaigne  (1533-1592).  He  "has 
portrayed  if  not  the  typical  man,  at  least  the  typical  French- 
man, with  all  the  doubts  and  misapprehensions  under  which 
he  labours,  the  pleasures  which  delight  him,  the  hopes  and 
wishes  that  he  fosters — portrayed  him  as  he  is  in  his  whole 
nature,  whether  sensual  or  spiritual"  (Ranke). 

The  modern  individual,  whose  aim  it  is  to  develop  his  powers 
and  enjoy  his  life,  can  bring  more  interest  and  freshness  into 
his  work  than  was  possible  for  one  who  lived  hi  the  post-classical 


332  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

period.  At  the  same  time  he  has  much  harder  opposition  to 
encounter  from  environment  and  tradition.  Again,  if  all  abso- 
lute values  and  rigid  conventions  are  to  give  way,  thought  will 
have  much  more  to  do,  far  more  rubbish  to  clear  away,  far  more 
call  for  its  acuteness,  wit  and  sarcasm.  And  this  expectation  is 
fully  borne  out  by  the  facts. 

A  rigidly  orthodox  culture,  absolutely  binding  on  the  indi- 
vidual, Montaigne  condemns  as  a  danger  and  a  misfortune.  It 
diverts  man  from  his  own  to  alien  interests,  from  the  present  to 
the  future.  "We  are  always  out,  never  at  home."  We  want  to 
live  everywhere,  and  so  we  live  nowhere;  we  live  without  having 
any  real  consciousness  of  our  life.  At  the  same  time,  life  has 
become  artificial.  "We  have  forsaken  nature,  and  now  want 
to  instruct  our  mistress,  under  whose  guidance  we  were  once  so 
safe  and  happy."  Untruthfulness  and  hypocrisy  pervade  all 
our  relations;  we  concern  ourselves  mainly  with  appearances; 
"the  whole  world  masquerades,"  as  Petronius  says.  By  entan- 
gling ourselves  with  strange  and  alien  interests,  we  make  our 
lives  restless  and  troubled;  we  lose  our  power  of  simple  enjoy- 
ment, of  easy  and  unfettered  movement.  The  very  refinement 
of  our  demands  makes  our  passions  more  dangerous.  So  the 
civilised  man  is  less  happy  and  less  good  than  the  natural  man 
with  his  simple  and  immediate  outlook. 

In  the  charges  thus  brought  against  our  civilisation,  Mon- 
taigne seems  to  be  anticipating  Rousseau;  his  description  of  its 
evils  agrees  with  Rousseau's  even  to  the  actual  terms  used.  But 
the  remedy  he  proposes  is  very  different,  and  far  less  wild  and 
dangerous  than  that  suggested  by  the  famous  radical.  Whereas 
Rousseau  wishes  to  destroy  the  whole  of  our  previous  civilisa- 
tion that  he  may  build  up  an  entirely  new  life,  Montaigne  is  con- 
tent with  merely  lightening  the  pressure  that  civilisation  exerts 
upon  the  mind  of  man.  This  he  does  by  pointing  out  the  rela- 
tivity of  all  its  arrangements,  and  by  denying  the  fixity  of  social 
ordinances.  But  outwardly  everything  remains  as  it  is,  and  to 
this  extent  the  doctrine  of  relativity  is  thoroughly  conservative 
in  tendency. 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  333 

To  Montaigne  the  chief  means  of  emancipation  is  critical  re- 
flection. It  is  this  which  reveals  the  fleeting,  changeful  nature 
of  historical  constructions,  the  accidental  character  of  human 
institutions,  the  uncertainty  of  all  so-called  knowledge,  the  hol- 
lowness  and  barrenness  of  scholastic  learning,  and,  above  all, 
the  subjectivity  and  individuality  of  all  opinions  and  valu- 
ations. 

If  things  and  their  values  are  constantly  changing  with  the 
individual,  as  in  some  gay  panorama,  if  the  same  thing  presents 
one  aspect  to  this  man  and  another  to  his  neighbour,  then  it 
becomes  a  folly,  a  piece  of  arch-stupidity  (guelle  bestiale  stupidite) 
to  make  one's  own  opinion  binding  on  another  man.  He  who 
clearly  perceives  the  subjectivity  and  relativity  of  all  convictions 
and  all  institutions  is  won  over  to  the  cause  of  most  broad- 
minded  toleration. 

Such  a  revolution  of  the  inner  life  cannot  fail  to  change  our 
judgments  of  all  that  tradition  has  accustomed  us  to  regard  as 
great  and  good.  The  only  criterion  which  an  individual  has  is 
his  own  feeling.  All  claim  to  reality  must  be  settled  by  appeal 
to  his  feeling:  nothing  can  be  good  unless  it  prove  itself  agree- 
able. So  the  individual  impression  is  to  be  the  judge  of  truth; 
and  that  which  is  good-in-itself  must  yield  place  to  the  pleasant 
and  the  useful. 

But  such  increased  freedom  of  movement  by  no  means  im- 
plies that  the  individual  loses  touch  with  his  fellows.  For  man's 
life  is  passed  in  contact  with  other  men  and  under  the  influence 
of  bygone  generations.  The  result  of  such  association  is  a  stock 
of  generally-received  beliefs  and  regulations,  the  extent  of  whose 
influence  is  further  increased  by  custom.  Our  wisest  course  is  to 
adhere,  of  our  own  free  choice,  to  the  usages  and  opinions  which 
happen  to  prevail  in  our  environment  and  our  particular  social 
sphere.  Religion  is  reckoned  as  one  of  our  social  arrangements, 
and  even  as  regards  its  historical  status,  an  attitude  of  conserv- 
atism is  recommended.  The  best  party  in  the  State  is  that 
"  which  upholds  the  old  religion  and  the  old  distribution  of  prop- 
erty." So  there  was  good  reason  why  Montaigne  on  his  travels 


334  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

should  be  received  by  the  Pope,  and  why  his  work  should  meet 
with  the  approval  of  the  Holy  Office. 

When  all  restraints  have  been  thus  removed,  the  new  life  is 
able  to  develop  its  own  nature  freely  and  fully.  The  develop- 
ment here  is  mainly  in  the  direction  of  the  art  of  living,  the  right 
use  of  all  opportunities,  the  clever  adjustment  to  the  needs  of 
the  moment,  the  vivre  a  propos. 

Obviously  this  life  lacks  depth,  but  it  possesses  notwithstand- 
ing some  admirable  traits.  Although  the  Supreme  Good  is 
pleasure — in  the  sense  of  the  self-pleasing  (plaisir)  of  the  indi- 
vidual— and  though  no  one  can  feel  it  his  duty  to  consider  the 
welfare  of  any  one  else,  yet  it  by  no  means  follows  that  a  man 
must  be  indifferent  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  A  friendly  de- 
meanour toward  those  by  whom  he  is  surrounded  will  naturally 
commend  itself  to  a  man  of  tender-hearted,  kindly  disposition. 
Efforts  are  made  to  humanise  social  relations,  to  abolish  severe 
regulations  such  as  cruel  punishments,  torture  and  the  like. 
Animals  and  even  trees  are  to  be  treated  with  indulgence.  More- 
over, the  consciousness  that  everything  human  is  relative  and 
that  all  individuals  have  equal  rights  makes  for  a  charitable 
judgment  of  other  people's  actions  and  a  broad  tolerance  toward 
men  and  things.  So  Montaigne  pursues  his  own  way,  undis- 
turbed by  the  sharp  oppositions  and  passionate  conflicts  of  the 
age  in  which  he  lived. 

The  mainspring  of  a  happy  life  is  moderation :  this  it  is  which 
constitutes  virtue.  Virtue  is  no  stern  taskmistress,  fettering 
life's  freedom,  but  a  minister  to  human  happiness,  teaching  us 
the  art  of  right  enjoyment.  She  is  a  cheerful,  happy  presence, 
never  demanding  renunciation  save  in  the  interests  of  a  greater 
pleasure.  It  is  the  golden  mean  that  moderation  finds  com- 
mendable in  all  circumstances;  no  bold,  empyrean  flight,  but 
contentment  with  a  bare  sufficiency,  is  the  best  guide  to  happi- 
ness. Goods  which  exceed  the  mean  are  only  an  incubus. 

Happiness,  moreover,  demands  a  simple  and  natural  mode  of 
life.  All  real  joy  and  real  capacity  are  developed  in  close  con- 
tact with  nature.  So,  even  in  moral  education,  it  is  the  simplest 


THE  RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  335 

impressions  and  feelings  which  should  form  the  starting-point 
of  our  effort.  "Pain  and  pleasure,  love  and  hate,  are  the  first 
things  which  a  child  feels;  when  it  becomes  capable  of  reason, 
then  these  elemental  feelings  combine  with  reason  to  form  vir- 
tue." Here  appears,  seemingly  for  the  first  time,  the  maxim 
which  later  excited  so  much  discussion,  not  to  interfere  too 
much  with  nature  but  to  give  her  a  chance  of  working  in  her 
own  way  (laissons  faire  un  pen  la  nature).  "She  understands 
her  business  better  than  we  do." 

The  less  life  concerns  itself  with  trying  to  fathom  the  universe, 
the  greater  is  the  stress  laid  on  social  intercourse  with  men.  So- 
ciety is  the  chief  source  of  pleasure;  life  develops  best  when  men 
act  and  react  on  each  other.  But  such  interaction  must  still 
leave  them  their  independence;  even  though  their  thoughts  be 
constantly  occupied  with  man,  they  do  not  require  his  physical 
proximity  at  every  hour  of  the  day.  So,  according  to  Mon- 
taigne, it  is  best  to  avoid  all  fixed  obligations,  and  binding  rela- 
tionships. "Wisdom  herself  I  would  not  have  wedded,  if  she 
had  asked  me." 

This  regimen  of  life  is  specially  distinguished  by  its  light- 
heartedness,  cheerfulness  and  gaiety.  The  easy  acceptance  of 
things  as  they  are  is  particularly  characteristic  when  we  con- 
trast it  with  the  deep  and  solemn  sense  of  responsibility  which 
had  marked  the  attitude  of  the  Reformation.  Life  would  now 
seem  to  be  altogether  freed  from  the  oppressive  nightmare  of 
the  past  and  the  perplexing  riddles  of  the  universe.  Through 
the  shifting  of  its  centre  of  intercourse  to  a  sense-environment, 
it  assumes  the  form  of  a  gay,  light-hearted  dalliance  with  the 
surface  of  things,  a  dalliance  in  which  there  is  a  constant  inter- 
play of  varied  forces  spreading  cheer  and  joy  over  the  whole  of 
existence.  All  problems  lose  their  harshness;  an  amiable  tem- 
per softens  the  edge  of  even  the  sharpest  thrusts. 

Such  are  the  tendencies  which  influence  the  development  of 
one  very  important  side  of  French  character.  No  other  nation 
is  so  ready  to  remove  the  waste  and  rubbish  of  worn-out  tradi- 
tions, to  centre  life  in  the  immediate  present,  to  live  for  the 


336  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

moment,  to  vibrate  to  the  swingings  of  time's  pendulum  with  live- 
liest sensibility.  So  it  is  among  the  French  that  we  find  the  clear- 
est indication  of  the  changes  in  the  tendencies  and  moods  of  civi- 
lised life.  They  are  the  people  who,  not  only  in  external  things, 
set  the  fashion.  It  is  the  French,  too,  who  have  made  life  into 
a  fine  art,  turning  existence  into  a  merry  pastime,  and  giving 
full  and  free  play  to  the  individual.  And  of  Montaigne  it  can  be 
said  in  all  these  respects,  that  "the  peculiar  genius  of  the  nation 
is  reflected  in  him"  (Ranke). 

But  that  which  suffices  for  a  certain  level  of  life  is  not  there- 
fore the  ultimate  and  the  whole.  Common-sense  is  not  the 
sum  of  wisdom.  And  yet  Montaigne  maintains  that  it  is.  But 
at  once  all  those  objections  come  up  which  the  old  Epicurean- 
ism called  forth;  the  centuries  have  only  added  to  their  force. 
Obviously  this  way  of  life  is  unproductive;  its  optimism,  too,  has 
no  security  against  misery  and  evil.  Its  strong  point,  the  taking 
things  lightly,  becomes  a  weakness  so  soon  as  great  and  seri- 
ous issues  are  at  stake.  We  may  go  further  and  say  that  if 
its  jesting  temper  makes  the  ultimate  problems  of  our  spiritual 
existence  a  matter  of  social  taste,  of  mere  fashion  and  caprice, 
then  it  is  only  a  step  in  the  direction  of  frivolous  and  destructive 
levity.  Unhappy  is  the  nation  that  adopts  a  mode  of  life  which 
makes  for  this  superficial  enjoyment  and  allows  a  sceptical, 
epicurean  way  of  thinking  to  decide  not  only  on  things  temporal, 
but  on  things  eternal. 

(d)  The  New  Attitude  toward  Nature  and  the  Control  of  Nature 
through  Science.    Bacon 

With  Bacon  (1561-1626),  we  are  already  on  the  very  thresh- 
old of  the  Enlightenment.  For  with  him  the  seething  ferment 
of  the  Renaissance  becomes  clear  and  intelligible.  But  the  new 
element  is  still  working  within  the  old  rather  than  finding  for 
itself  an  independent  basis  and  creating  its  own  form  of  expression. 
This  thinker  excels  in  boldness  of  conception,  but  has  little  gift 
for  detail  work.  He,  like  his  predecessors,  is  impelled  by  a  soar- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  337 

ing  imagination,  which  gives  his  ideas  a  powerful  impetus  and 
interweaves  his  presentation  of  them  with  brilliant  imagery; 
he,  too,  has  suggested  more  than  he  has  worked  out.  So  we 
count  him  as  still  belonging  to  that  transitional  period  which 
ushers  in  the  modern  world. 

He  begins  his  work  with  a  trenchant  criticism  of  the  preva- 
lent philosophy,  and  a  complete  break  with  historical  tradition. 
He  finds  the  existing  state  of  science  utterly  and  wholly  unsat- 
isfactory, since  it  gives  us  neither  the  knowledge  of  things  nor 
the  power  to  control  them.  That  which  passes  for  science  is  mere 
pretence  and  wordiness;  it  is  barren  and  dead,  forlorn  result  of 
centuries  of  toil !  With  the  facts  before  us,  how  can  we  continue 
to  bow  down  before  our  much-belauded  classics,  especially 
Aristotle?  And  why  such  dependence  on  the  old?  Why  call 
those  early  thinkers  old,  and  not  rather  ourselves,  who  embody 
the  experience  of  the  centuries  ?  Once  we  thought  tradition  the 
mouthpiece  of  transcendent  reason,  but  now  we  begin  to  doubt 
whether  she  really  does  hand  down  only  the  best  achievement 
of  the  past.  For  may  not  time  be  like  a  river,  which  bears  on- 
ward the  light,  inflated  things,  leaving  what  is  heavy  and  solid 
to  sink  to  the  bottom  ?  We  must,  therefore,  free  ourselves  from 
all  traditional  authority,  and  begin  our  work  all  over  again. 
Here  we  have  a  complete  change  in  the  attitude  toward  history; 
from  a  blind  reverence  of  the  past,  we  swing  round  into  a  blind 
rejection  of  it,  and  to  an  exclusive  appreciation  of  the  present. 

Such  a  sharp  break  with  the  past  is  often  censured,  and  Bacon 
is  accused  of  a  wanton  passion  for  innovation.  But  an  unprej- 
udiced estimate  in  the  light  of  the  circumstances  of  the  time  will 
give  a  different  verdict.  When  men  began  seriously  to  doubt  the 
correctness  of  the  older  method,  the  overweening  force  of  tra- 
dition must  have  seemed  to  them  a  tremendous  incubus,  an  in- 
tolerable restraint :  at  all  costs,  this  burden  must  be  shaken  off 
and  the  path  left  clear.  It  is  easy  for  a  man  to  value  history 
aright  when  she  no  longer  threatens  his  freedom;  he  who  has 
to  fight  for  justice  is  seldom  just. 

But  how  are  we  to  improve  on  these  earlier  thinkers  ?    Obvi- 


338  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ously  their  mistakes  were  not  due  to  any  lack  of  intellectual 
power,  for  there  was  certainly  no  dearth  of  talent  among  them. 
It  must  have  been  their  way  of  procedure,  their  method,  which 
led  them  astray.  Their  work  was  vain,  because  it  followed  the 
wrong  paths.  From  a  more  correct  method  we  may  hope  for 
better  success  and  an  end  to  unproductive  toil. 

The  seat  of  the  error  may  be  specified  as  follows.  Man,  in- 
stead of  taking  things  as  they  were,  and  considering  the  truth 
about  them  to  be  more  important  than  his  own  ideas,  had  made 
himself  into  a  centre,  and  interpreted  everything  in  accordance 
with  his  own  feelings  and  purposes;  the  whole  immeasurable 
wealth  of  the  universe  he  imprisoned  in  a  web  of  human  concep- 
tions and  formulas;  the  phantoms  of  human  prejudice  tyran- 
nised over  work  and  hindered  all  progress.  Such  inquiry  was 
anxious,  above  all,  to  have  done  with  its  problem  and  to  rest 
from  the  labour  of  thinking;  so  it  broke  off  when  it  had  scarce 
begun;  general  propositions  were  recklessly  hazarded  and  set 
up  as  incontestable  truths  which  could  give  an  answer  to  all 
questions.  This  subjective  and  deductive  procedure  gave  no 
interpretation  of  nature  (inter pretatio  natures),  but  a  mere  un- 
verified anticipation  (anticipatio  mentis)]  nor  did  it  win  any 
control  over  nature,  but  with  its  formulas  and  abstractions  re- 
mained quite  unfruitful  for  the  purposes  of  life. 

The  clear  perception  of  the  fault  indicates  the  remedy.  We 
must  keep  in  close  continuous  touch  with  things,  develop  an 
objective,  inductive  method,  free  science  from  anthropomor- 
phism. Preconceived  notions  and  doctrines  must  be  expunged, 
and  the  mind  presented  to  the  outside  world  like  a  clean  slate. 
Only  he  can  constrain  nature  who  first  obeys  her.  So  through 
the  whole  course  of  the  work  all  personal  preference — nay,  all 
that  the  mind  of  itself  can  contribute — must  be  set  aside;  the 
mind  must  never  be  allowed  to  work  by  itself,  but  the  subject- 
matter  must,  as  far  as  possible,  be  treated  mechanically  (velut 
per  machinas),  and  just  follow  the  movement  of  the  objects 
themselves.  This  new  kind  of  inquiry  must  begin  with  indi- 
vidual impressions,  as  it  is  these  which  faithfully  transmit  to  us 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  339 

the  nature  of  things.  The  foundation  thus  laid  must  be  broad 
and  secure;  we  must  see  clearly  and  exactly,  and,  where  pos- 
sible, with  the  help  of  instruments,  since  these  not  only  make 
our  observations  finer,  but  also  eliminate  the  uncertainty  caused 
by  differences  of  subjective  appreciation.  Then  slowly  and  cau- 
tiously, feeling  our  way  carefully  step  by  step,  frequently  altering 
the  conditions  of  observation,  and  cleverly  selecting  crucial  in- 
stances, we  must  mount  upward  to  our  universal  propositions, 
even  then  not  hurrying  to  attain  the  finality  of  a  system, — there- 
by precluding  further  growth — but  leaving  questions  open,  and 
thought  alive  and  progressive.  At  the  same  time,  inference 
must  always  be  abundantly  supported  by  experiment,  which 
binds  nature  and  constrains  her  to  an  answer,  whereas  otherwise 
she  slips  from  man's  hold  with  Protean  agility.  If  all  this  is  done 
with  unwearied  patience  and  stern  self-criticism,  we  shall  grad- 
ually build  up  on  a  sure  foundation  a  mighty  pyramid  of  knowl- 
edge. 

Many  objections  have  been  urged,  and  not  without  reason, 
against  this  Baconian  method.  The  activity  of  the  mind  does 
not  admit  of  being  so  entirely  eliminated;  work  does  not  accu- 
mulate and  arrange  itself  so  easily.  It  needs  to  be  guided  along 
right  lines,  which  only  the  pioneering  work  of  thought  can  win 
from  the  chaos  of  the  phenomenal  world.  Here,  too,  inquiry  is 
still  too  much  at  the  mercy  of  the  immediate  impression :  there 
is  a  lack  of  penetrating  analysis,  that  most  important  instrument 
of  modern  scientific  inquiry.  Moreover,  Bacon  is  still  straying 
in  the  paths  of  scholasticism  in  so  far  as  he  seeks  not  the  sim- 
plest forces  and  laws,  but  rather  the  universal  forms  and  essences 
of  things.  But  none  the  less,  his  work,  taken  as  a  whole,  marks 
a  new  departure.  The  perception  of  human  littleness  has  awa- 
kened in  full  force,  and  at  the  same  time  a  longing  to  come  into 
living  touch  with  things,  nay,  more,  with  the  infinity  of  the  uni- 
verse. To  this  end,  man  must  abandon  his  long-cherished  illu- 
sions and  war  against  himself — a  war  which  cannot  succeed 
save  at  great  cost.  Nor  does  the  contact  with  things  result  only 
in  an  expansion  of  life :  its  main  effect  seems  to  be  to  bring  life 


340  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

out  from  the  shadows  in  which  it  has  lain  into  the  full  blaze  of 
reality.  And  the  result  of  such  a  triumph  is  that  man,  in  spite  of 
his  consciousness  of  subordination  to  nature,  feels  an  access  of 
sure,  proud  confidence  in  his  own  powers. 

And  he  does  so  the  more,  since  with  Bacon  scientific  inquiry 
does  not  stop  short  at  mere  knowing,  but  seeks  to  gain  a  technical 
control  over  nature;  "the  real  and  true  goal  of  the  sciences  is 
nothing  else  than  the  enrichment  of  human  life  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  new  inventions  and  resources."  This  is  the  origin  of  the 
characteristic  saying  which  has  passed  into  a  proverb  that  knowl- 
edge is  power.  Man  is  willing  to  serve  nature  only  that  he  may 
wrest  her  secret  from  her  and  subdue  her  to  his  sway.  Inasmuch 
as  such  control  means  a  continual  expansion  of  our  powers, 
turning  the  forces  of  nature  into  limbs  of  our  body  and  instru- 
ments of  our  will,  it  raises  indefinitely  the  level  of  our  life  and 
well-being.  Life's  success  is  thus  made  to  depend  on  scientific 
knowledge  and  its  technical  development. 

Such  a  course  of  thought  leads  to  an  enthusiastic  eulogizing 
of  inventions;  they  are  "as  it  were  new  creations  and  imitations 
of  the  Divine  works."  The  inventors,  moreover,  are  men  who 
increase  the  wealth  of  humanity  and  win  for  it  new  provinces; 
hence  they  are  far  superior  to  the  conquerors  in  war  who  only 
enrich  one  nation,  and  that  at  the  cost  of  others.  How  one 
single  invention  can  alter  the  whole  course  of  life  is  shown  by 
the  discovery  of  printing,  gunpowder  and  the  compass;  for 
without  these,  literary  development,  war  and  world-wide  com- 
merce were  all  alike  impossible.  How  much  more  may  we  ex- 
pect when  methodical,  systematic  attack  replaces  the  depend- 
ence on  mere  happy  accident,  when  a  universally  valid  method 
of  discovery  is  formulated  and  practised  by  many  in  common. 
For  it  is  certain  that  nature  still  hides  much  treasure;  many  in- 
ventions yet  await  us.  And  by  erecting  into  an  art  that  which 
once  belonged  to  the  domain  of  chance,  we  can  hope  to  raise 
appreciably  the  level  of  life.  With  the  enthusiasm  of  a  prophet 
Bacon  foresees  a  new  condition  of  civilisation,  and  presses  for- 
ward to  the  realisation  of  it  with  burning  ardour.  Like  a  true 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  341 

seer,  also,  he  expects  this  better  future  to  result  from  an  imme- 
diate revolution  rather  than  from  a  process  of  slow  toil. 

To  conceive  life's  main  problem  in  this  way  is  to  give  birth 
to  a  new  spirit  which  reveals  its  influence  in  many  directions. 
The  task  of  building  up  the  pyramid  of  knowledge  and  revo- 
lutionising the  whole  of  existence  by  means  of  inventions  is  far 
too  great  for  the  individual.  It  requires  the  united  energies  of 
many.  Nay,  more,  however  true  it  be  that  the  present  is  the 
critical  turning-point,  yet  the  work  of  successive  generations  is 
required,  a  sum-total  of  all  possible  contributions.  Science  is 
no  longer  the  affair  of  the  individual,  but  of  the  race.  Each 
man  must  willingly  subordinate  and  adjust  himself  to  the 
whole  which  calls  for  the  services  of  all;  "many  shall  run  to 
and  fro,  and  knowledge  shall  be  increased."  Thus  the  new 
knowledge  acquires  a  distinctively  ethical  character. 

At  the  same  time,  the  profound  respect  for  method,  which  had 
been  the  original  inspiration  of  Bacon's  work,  becomes  more 
and  more  pronounced.  Any  mode  of  procedure  which  is  to 
make  sure  of  progress  in  its  department  and  to  fuse  together  the 
scattered  energies  of  many  minds  must  be  quite  independent  of 
subjective  accidents  and  be  necessitated  by  the  facts  themselves. 
It  will  reduce  differing  capacities  to  the  same  level  and  increase 
the  effectiveness  of  the  less  talented.  For  "gifts  in  themselves 
poor  and  unpromising  become  of  importance  when  employed  in 
the  right  way  and  order."  A  lame  man  who  keeps  to  the  path 
can  overtake  a  runner  who  makes  a  circuit.  Method  seems  here 
to  have  cut  itself  loose  from  persons,  and  to  work  with  the  un- 
varying accuracy  of  a  machine.  This  is  the  beginning  of  that 
overvaluing  of  method  and  undervaluing  of  personality  which 
has  been  the  cause  of  much  error  in  our  modern  life.  But  the 
exaggeration  must  not  blind  us  to  the  perfectly  justifiable  and 
indispensable  character  of  the  main  contention.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  spiritual  life  of  to-day  was  not  possible  until  work 
proceeded  securely  along  its  own  lines  in  an  undeviating  course 
which  the  individual  was  bound  to  respect.  And  to  win  for  it  this 
right  was  the  real  motive  of  this  whole  insistence  upon  method. 


342  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

This  transformation  of  science  is  accompanied  by  a  corre- 
sponding change  of  the  position  which  it  occupies  in  the  do- 
main of  life.  It  now  becomes  the  peak  which  dominates  the 
whole  landscape:  it  is  the  very  soul  of  civilisation.  The  new 
order  of  things  ranks  as  "the  kingdom  of  philosophy  and  the 
sciences."  The  new  intellectual  epoch  is  proclaimed  with  no 
uncertain  voice.  But  the  parent  stock  of  all  science  is  natural 
science.  This  is  the  "great  mother,"  the  root  of  all  knowl- 
edge, separation  from  which  means  death;  in  fact,  with 
Bacon,  it  provides  concepts  and  rules  for  all  the  sciences. 
So  already  at  this  early  date,  we  have  that  fundamentally 
false  identification  of  "nature"  with  "world,"  of  natural  sci- 
ence with  science  generally,  which  has  set  up  so  much  error 
and  confusion. 

When  science  is  so  conceived,  and  associated  with  the  im- 
petus toward  technical  development,  there  results  a  certain 
characteristic  view  and  temper  of  life.  Even  within  the  limits 
of  time  itself,  man  has  now  an  important  task  to  fulfil,  an  im- 
portant future  to  look  forward  to;  his  energies  are  now  fully 
occupied  with  this  present  world.  From  the  exercise  of  his 
powers  amid  the  press  of  work,  there  is  now  evolved  a  more 
vivid  consciousness  of  self,  a  fundamentally  optimistic  frame  of 
mind.  The  thinker  has  no  desire  to  bewail  the  miseries  of  man- 
kind; he  would  rather  linger  over  great  men  and  their  works, 
"those  marvels  of  human  nature."  He  would  like  to  frame  a 
calendar  which  should  celebrate  the  triumphs  of  humanity. 
And  though  science  may  suffer  much  from  an  overweening  self- 
confidence,  it  is  not  this,  but  craven-heartedness  and  a  prema- 
ture despair,  which  we  are  especially  warned  to  beware  of. 
What  a  contrast,  this,  to  the  mediaeval  spirit! 

The  chief  aim  of  work  is  to  produce,  and  prove  effective. 
Hence  a  growing  tendency  to  disregard  the  purely  inward  as- 
pect of  things,  a  tendency  pervading  all  departments  alike. 
Bacon  has,  for  instance,  some  striking  epigrams  on  the  subject 
of  religion.  It  is  he  who  says  that  in  philosophy  a  sip  off  the 
surface  may  perhaps  drive  a  man  to  atheism,  but  a  deeper 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  343 

draught  will  bring  him  back  again  to  religion;  yet  he  is  insistent 
on  the  separation  of  human  from  divine,  of  faith  from  science, 
so  that  scientific  inquiry  may  be  undisturbed  by  religious 
fanaticism.  Morality  he  wishes  to  base  no  longer  on  religion 
and  theology,  but  on  human  nature;  his  treatment,  however, 
does  not  go  very  deep,  and  his  investigation  concerns  itself  more 
with  ways  and  methods  of  work  than  with  ultimate  ends.  Bacon 
speaks  of  a  culture  of  the  mind  (cultura  animi),  and  he  is  so 
much  under  the  influence  of  the  metaphor  that  he  can  also  talk 
of  an  "agriculture"  (georgica)  of  the  mind.  Law  is  reckoned 
as  a  part  of  the  work  of  civilisation :  its  chief  function  is  to  min- 
ister to  the  common  use  and  happiness  of  the  citizens.  The 
laws  must  be  clearly  and  definitely  grasped;  the  application  of 
them  must  be  regulated  by  the  mode  of  thought  actually  preva- 
lent, to  the  strictest  exclusion  of  all  elements  of  caprice  and  un- 
certainty. Also  in  educational  theory,  technique  takes  prece- 
dence of  morality.  Bacon  holds  up  as  a  pattern  the  school  sys- 
tem of  the  Jesuits.  Finally,  a  very  noteworthy  feature  is  the 
contempt  for  art  and  all  beautiful  form.  He  is  not  concerned 
with  the  beauty  of  things,  but  only  with  their  content  and  their 
use.  The  art  of  presentation  has  for  him  no  value;  all  adorn- 
ment seems  superfluous  and  even  harmful.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Bacon  presents  his  own  thoughts  in  the  most  carefully  modelled 
and  finely  polished  form;  often  he  coins  expressions  so  striking 
that  they  have  been  borrowed  by  succeeding  centuries;  his 
mode  of  presentation  shows  the  greatest  freshness  of  feeling, 
and  an  almost  dramatic  interest  by  reason  of  the  sharp  an- 
titheses which  everywhere  abound  in  his  work.  Everything 
taken  together,  he  is  a  master  of  scientific  style,  and  more 
than  any  one  else,  has  given  to  this  style  its  distinctively  modern 
colouring. 

So,  too,  in  other  respects,  Bacon  often  breaks  through  the 
limits  imposed  upon  his  thought  by  the  technical  character  of 
his  scientific  work.  Still  it  is  the  scientific  temper  which  directs 
the  main  current  of  his  thought;  and  only  that  which  is  tribu- 
tary to  it  can  join  in  the  common  movement. 


344  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Bacon  has  given  classical  expression  to  an  urgent  need  of  our 
modern  life,  and  has  championed  its  cause  triumphantly.  The 
movement  which  he  develops  is  a  movement  of  revulsion  from 
abstract  conception  to  immediate  intuition,  from  the  subtleties 
of  words  to  the  knowledge  of  things,  from  the  narrowness  of  the 
schools  to  the  broad  culture  of  social  life,  from  the  airy  freedom 
of  subjectivism  to  the  binding  relationships  of  an  objective 
world.  He  interweaves  human  existence  more  closely  with  its 
environment.  In  a  word,  he  is  the  founder  of  Modern  Realism. 
How  truly  his  work  met  the  need  of  his  age  for  immediacy  and 
reality,  is  shown  more  particularly  in  the  seventeenth-century 
revolution  of  educational  theory  (Comenius)  which  takes  up  his 
line  of  endeavour  and  carries  it  still  further. 

That  Bacon  remains,  notwithstanding,  in  a  transitional  posi- 
tion is  sufficiently  indicated  by  his  outlook  upon  life.  He  is 
completely  silent  upon  many  problems,  the  expression  and  solu- 
tion of  which  was  the  great  achievement  of  the  Enlightenment. 
In  particular,  there  is  no  mention  of  a  break  with  the  primitive 
view  of  the  earth's  place  in  the  universe.  He  allows  contra- 
dictory tendencies  to  exist  side  by  side  without  making  an  at- 
tempt to  reconcile  them.  When  it  is  a  question  of  knowledge, 
the  relation  of  the  human  mind  to  reality  is  totally  different  from 
that  which  it  assumes  when  action  is  concerned.  In  the  one 
case,  it  stands  aloof  from  things,  empty  and  powerless;  in  the 
other,  it  gains  gigantic  proportions  and  subdues  the  environ- 
ment to  its  imperious  sway.  But,  we  may  ask,  what  is  going 
on  in  the  man  himself  whose  capacities  are  thus  enormously 
extended?  What  is  the  inward  gain  which  corresponds  to 
this  increase  of  power?  To  this  question  Bacon  has  no  an- 
swer. 

We  see,  then,  that  he  has  no  more  arrived  at  a  final  conclusion 
than  have  the  other  thinkers  of  the  Renaissance.  However 
much  he  has  contributed  by  his  youthful  energy  and  optimistic 
faith  to  the  inauguration  of  a  new  era,  it  is  nevertheless  true  of 
him  also  that  he  ushers  in  not  daylight,  but  dawn. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  345 

H.  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT 
(a)  General  Characteristics  of  the  Enlightenment 

As  the  Enlightenment  shared  with  the  Renaissance  the  task 
of  reconstructing  the  modern  world,  it  is  natural  that  both 
epochs  should  possess  features  in  common.  To  both  the  uni- 
verse makes  an  irresistible  appeal :  the  gladness  and  joy  of  life, 
the  impulse  to  produce  and  create,  the  inclination  to  make  action 
the  all-important  centre  of  existence,  the  desire  to  rule  and  gov- 
ern the  outside  world,  the  struggle  for  the  free  development  of 
every  power — these  things  are  common  to  them  both.  And  this 
overflowing  vitality  is  accompanied  by  a  firm  belief  in  the  sover- 
eignty of  reason  within  the  world  of  reality.  Even  opposition 
is  viewed  rather  as  a  welcome  stimulus  to  our  powers  than  as  an 
incapacitating  obstacle.  The  whole  tone  of  life  is  optimistic 
through  and  through,  and  characterised  by  a  prompt  readiness 
to  action. 

But  within  this  general  likeness,  there  are  dissimilarities 
which  amount  to  a  complete  opposition,  an  opposition  which 
must  be  kept  clearly  in  view  by  such  as  wish  to  follow  with 
understanding  the  development  of  our  modern  world.  For  the 
Renaissance  represents  its  youth,  the  Enlightenment  its  early 
maturity.  The  Renaissance  tends  rather  to  present  the  whole 
realm  of  being  as  an  undifferentiated  unity;  it  inclines  to  the 
heroic;  it  allows  imagination  to  rule  unchecked.  The  Enlight- 
enment makes  more  for  clearness  and  distinctness,  not  only  in 
the  objective,  but  also  in  the  subjective,  world.  Its  energy  is 
less  impetuous;  it  is  cautious  and  calculating;  it  desires  to  do 
work  that  strikes  deep  and  bears  fruit.  In  the  Renaissance,  we 
have  the  full  freshness  of  the  first  impression,  action  based  on 
impulse,  often  a  mere  chaotic  confusion.  The  Enlightenment 
asks  for  thorough  grounding,  strict  order,  systematic  connection. 
In  the  one  case,  man  is  on  a  familiar  footing  with  his  world,  and 
is  quite  unembarrassed  in  his  dealings  with  it:  there  is  an  easy 
give-and-take  relationship;  the  prevalent  mode  of  thought  is 


346  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

monistic.  In  the  other  case,  man  and  the  world  are  more  sharply 
sundered;  there  is  discovery  of  differences,  setting  forth  of  oppo- 
sitions, a  method  which  is  essentially  dualistic  and  dichotomic. 
The  one  aims  at  building  up  comprehensive  systems;  the  other 
at  reducing  things  to  their  ultimate  elements.  In  the  one,  the 
synthetic  method  prevails;  in  the  other,  the  analytic.  To  the 
Renaissance,  nature  is  animate;  the  greatest  things,  as  the 
smallest,  are  the  abode  of  spirits,  which  appear  sometimes  as 
forms  of  ravishing  beauty,  but  sometimes  as  black,  tormenting 
fiends.  To  the  Enlightenment,  nature  is  wanimate,  resolved 
into  smallest  atoms,  subjected  to  unchanging  laws,  and  there- 
with transformed  into  a  machine  whose  transparent  wheel-work 
allows  of  no  magic  and  no  sorcery. 

The  distinction  goes  deep  and  affects  all  branches  of  human 
activity.  Morality,  to  the  Renaissance,  is  something  imposed 
from  outside;  so  it  easily  comes  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  burden- 
some restraint  on  the  boisterous  vitality  of  the  strong  and  the 
virile.  The  Enlightenment  views  morality  as  part  of  man's  own 
nature,  and  an  agency  for  lifting  life  to  a  higher  level.  Again,  in 
politics,  the  Renaissance  exalts  the  individual  with  his  lust  after 
rule  and  dominion;  the  Enlightenment  makes  all  men  free  and 
equal,  since  it  sees  in  all  the  manifestation  of  one  and  the  same 
Reason.  Philosophical  belief,  again,  in  the  one  case  favours 
Neo-Platonism,  in  the  other,  Stoicism.  Finally,  there  is  a  totally 
different  attitude  toward  history.  The  Renaissance  proclaims 
itself  as  a  revival  of  older  forms  of  life,  and  in  its  productions 
blends  old  and  new  inextricably  together.  The  Enlightenment 
sets  life  in  a  timeless  present  of  Reason  and  is,  therefore,  diamet- 
rically opposed  to  all  historical  tradition,  and  to  all  systems  of 
life  that  are  based  upon  authority. 

In  general  temper,  it  is  the  Renaissance  which,  at  first  sight, 
is  the  more  intensely  alive.  But  the  pulse-beat  of  the  Enlight- 
enment is  really  stronger,  and  the  results  of  its  activity  more 
important.  In  both  periods,  life  centres  its  interest  on  the  world, 
and  is  eager  to  subdue  all  tracts  of  existence  to  the  will  of  man : 
in  both,  the  gulf  between  man  and  the  world  is  wider  than  in  the 


THE  RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  347 

Middle  Ages.  But  in  the  Renaissance,  man  and  the  world  are 
not  so  far  asunder  but  that  they  can  still  unite  again  with  ease : 
in  artistic  creation,  the  opposition  seems  altogether  lost,  and 
reality  is  entirely  within  man's  grasp.  The  Enlightenment,  on 
the  other  hand,  has  intensified  the  opposition,  almost  past  hope 
of  transcendence.  Nature  is  emptied  of  everything  spiritual, 
and  becomes  completely  autonomous;  the  soul,  at  the  same  time, 
is  loosened  from  all  outside  connection  and  firmly  centred  in 
itself.  The  two  aspects  of  reality  seem  in  irreconcilable  antag- 
onism; and  when,  notwithstanding,  man  cannot  turn  his  back 
upon  the  world,  and  sees  that  if  he  hold  aloof  his  work  has  no 
meaning  and  his  life  no  gladness,  he  is  face  to  face  with  a 
knotty  problem:  if  world  and  soul  are  to  reunite,  the  primitive 
conception  of  them  must  be  radically  changed,  and  the  chief 
instrument  in  effecting  this  change  is  science.  Such  a  process, 
however,  involves  far  more  thought  and  toil,  more  critical 
reflection  and  clear  definition  of  limits,  than  was  possible 
to  the  more  primitive  culture  of  the  Renaissance.  Taken  all 
in  all,  the  Renaissance  gives  us  a  fresher  and  more  brilliant 
picture;  the  Enlightenment,  one  more  full  of  thought  and 
meaning. 

If  what  we  have  said  is  sufficient  to  show  that  a  first  impres- 
sion of  the  Enlightenment  may  easily  incline  to  be  unfavourable, 
it  is  natural  that  the  nineteenth  century  should  be  particularly 
unjust  to  it,  inasmuch  as  the  assertion  of  its  own  spirit  involved 
such  a  complete  reaction.  Moreover,  it  could  not  see  the  En- 
lightenment as  it  really  was  in  the  first  flush  of  its  youthful  ideal, 
but  knew  it  only  when  it  had  descended  to  the  level  of  ordinary 
life.  Hostile  to  history  as  the  movement  was,  it  can  yet  be  ap- 
preciated rightly  only  in  the  light  of  its  historical  connections. 
Viewed  in  this  light,  it  no  longer  presents  itself  as  a  logic-ridden 
process  subject  to  the  petty  limitations  of  a  formal  understand- 
ing, but  rather  as  an  earnest  endeavour  of  the  whole  man  to 
realise  the  true  meaning  of  his  life.  It  contrasts  with  the  Middle 
Ages  by  its  claim  to  complete  freedom,  and  with  the  Renaissance 
by  its  claim  to  complete  clearness;  through  the  fulfilment  of 


348  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

both  these  claims  man  takes  possession  of  the  world  and  feels 
himself  its  ruler. 

The  requisite  condition  for  such  control  of  nature  is  that  man 
should  live  his  own  life  and  possess  from  the  outset  a  trustwor- 
thy mental  equipment.  So  it  was  one  of  the  main  concerns  of 
the  Enlightenment  to  secure  him  this  requirement  by  proving 
that  he  was  no  mere  empty  receptacle,  no  tabula  rasa,  but 
rather  the  possessor  of  a  self -sufficing  nature,  a  repository  of  in- 
fallible truths,  himself  the  measure  of  all  things.  To  attain 
mastery  of  his  world,  all  he  needs  is  to  search  into  this  nature  of 
his  and  develop  it  thoroughly.  From  his  indwelling  reason  he 
can  produce  a  "natural"  law,  a  "natural"  morality,  a  "natural" 
religion,  independently  of  all  tradition.  It  enables  him  to  criti- 
cise the  traditional  order  of  things,  call  everything  into  question, 
weed  out  what  contradicts  reason,  gather  together  and  treasure 
up  all  that  is  in  accord  with  it.  Every  power  is  called  upon  to 
do  full  work;  the  human  spirit  seems  now  for  the  first  time  to 
enter  upon  its  majority;  it  engages  in  a  vigorous  conflict  with 
the  seeming  irrationalism  of  the  world  around  it;  out  of  its  in- 
dwelling reason,  it  evolves,  in  opposition  to  ecclesiastical  or- 
ganisation, a  system  of  life  that  is  universal,  and  it  therewith 
revolutionises  the  whole  order  of  things  in  every  department. 
The  system  has  been  severely  attacked  and  has  been  broken 
through  at  almost  every  single  point.  But  as  a  whole  it  still 
survives,  since  all  revolution  and  innovation  have  as  yet  failed 
to  produce  a  new  Order.  And  only  a  system  can  overthrow  a 
system. 

When  we  consider  the  Enlightenment  in  closer  detail,  we  are 
struck  by  the  spirit  of  serious  labour,  happy  faith  in  the  power  of 
goodness  and  enthusiasm  for  humanity,  which  greet  us  on  every 
hand.  How  much  we  owe  to  its  untiring  zeal  for  the  human- 
ising of  social  conditions,  in  ameliorating  harsh  laws,  for  in- 
stance, and  raising  the  general  standard  of  culture  and  educa- 
tion !  How  deeply  we  are  indebted  to  the  intellectual  acuteness 
which  freed  us  from  the  devastating  superstition  that  lay  like  a 
blight  on  the  genius  of  the  Renaissance!  In  truth,  we  often 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  349 

judge  the  Enlightenment  unfavourably  for  the  very  reason  that 
we  have  drawn  from  it  the  inspiration  for  our  best  work. 

Such  a  recognition  of  its  claims,  however,  need  not  blind  us 
to  its  limitations  and  errors.  Whether  or  not  we  approve  of  the 
attempt  to  isolate  the  reason,  concentrate  its  forces,  and  then 
marshal  them  to  do  battle  with  the  outside  world,  we  must  at 
least  admit  that  the  project  was  carried  out  in  far  too  easy  and 
hasty  a  fashion,  and  that  consequently  life  became  involved  in 
restrictions  and  negations  which  reduced  it  eventually  to  a 
shallow  conventionalism.  To  the  Enlightenment  with  its  con- 
sciousness of  power  and  its  optimistic  turn  of  mind  it  seemed  as 
th'ough  reason  lay  ready  available  in  the  soul  of  every  man.  The 
natural  goodness  immediately  operative  in  each  individual 
awaited  only  the  emancipating  touch  to  rise  in  majesty  and 
bring  the  environing  world  into  like  harmony  with  reason. 
There  was  nowhere  any  aliveness  to  difficult  spiritual  problems. 
Much,  therefore,  became  superfluous  that  had  hitherto  seemed 
indispensable.  If  reason  were  available  at  every  moment  in 
every  individual,  then  why  trouble  about  history,  which  really 
seemed  rather  a  hindrance  than  a  help  ?  Again,  there  was  a 
weakening  of  the  spiritual  tie  which  linked  the  individual  to  the 
community.  And  finally,  the  optimism  of  the  period  prevented 
any  deeper  understanding  of  the  old  religious  view  of  life.  In 
all  these  points,  the  Enlightenment  was  bound  to  become  more 
and  more  narrow  in  proportion  as  it  developed  more  and  more 
self-consciously  its  own  peculiar  character. 

This  narrowness,  moreover,  penetrates  even  to  the  innermost 
structure  of  life.  The  Enlightenment  seeks  for  the  firm  and 
ultimate  ground,  the  fundamental  constituent  of  reality,  in  that 
which  is  immediately  given  to  consciousness.  What  conscious- 
ness first  becomes  aware  of  passes  for  the  real  essence  of  the 
thing.  Thus  the  entire  soul  is  summed  up  in  thought  and  knowl- 
edge; the  coexistence  of  atoms  makes  up  the  entire  world.  The 
realm  of  presentation  together  with  spatial  existence  constitutes 
the  whole  of  reality,  though  neither  singly  nor  together  can  they 
give  rise  to  what  is  spiritual  or  self-sufficient. 


350  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Such  negations  and  restrictions  were  bound,  as  the  movement 
spread  and  deepened,  to  increase  in  force  and  finally  to  produce 
a  strong  reaction.  But  despite  all  that  is  questionable  and  de- 
fective in  detail,  there  is  no  contesting  the  great  and  abiding 
significance  of  the  fundamental  aim.  The  keenest-eyed  criti- 
cism must  not  forget  how  greatly  the  movement  has  helped  to 
bring  light  and  freedom  into  human  existence,  and  how  pro- 
foundly it  affects  us  all  even  to-day. 

The  transition  from  the  Renaissance  to  the  Enlightenment  is 
neither  sudden  nor  abrupt.  In  passing  from  the  Old  to  the  New 
we  meet  many  striking  and  interesting  figures  who  combine  the 
tendencies  of  both  periods  and  interweave  work  of  the  highest 
order  with  much  fanciful  speculation.  Foremost  among  these 
figures  stands  Kepler  (1571-1630).  In  him  the  youthful  spirit 
of  the  Renaissance  still  lingers,  and,  with  it,  the  hope  to  unriddle 
nature's  secret  by  one  bold  effort  and  force  an  access  into  her 
inmost  shrine  (penetralia  natures).  His  work  is  inspired  by  a 
lofty  imagination  which  makes  beauty  the  guiding  motive  of  the 
world.  But  at  the  same  time  he  displays  an  indefatigable  zeal 
for  clearness:  immanental  forces  are  driven  further  and  further 
from  the  domain  of  nature;  the  differences  of  things  assume  a 
quantitative  form:  mathematics  are  not  only  to  express  nature 
symbolically,  but  to  give  an  exact  knowledge  of  her.  And,  de- 
spite his  reverence  for  mind  as  the  source  of  knowledge,  there  is 
a  very  clear  appreciation  of  the  value  of  experience  and  a  pains- 
taking observation  of  minute  detail.  It  is  the  discoverer's  proud 
boast  that  his  respect  for  a  difference  of  eight  minutes  of  arc 
paved  the  way  for  the  reform  of  all  astronomical  science.  Im- 
agination and  science,  the  artistic  and  the  mathematical  turn  of 
mind,  unite  in  the  conception  of  a  harmonious  universe;  it  was 
this  idea  that  most  effectually  inspired  Kepler  to  make  the  dis- 
coveries which  have  immortalised  his  name. 

With  Galileo  (1564-1641),  on  the  other  hand,  we  at  once 
breathe  the  air  of  the  Enlightenment.  Here  the  domain  of  ex- 
act science  is  freed  from  all  fanciful  speculation  and  Nature  is 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  351 

purified  from  all  psychical  admixture.  On  the  whole,  during  the 
second  and  third  decades  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  new 
movement  gains  visibly  in  strength  and  independence.  The 
year  1625  witnesses  the  appearance  of  Hugo  Grotius's  magnum 
opus  which  not  only  sets  natural  law  upon  a  systematic  basis, 
but,  more  generally,  proclaims  with  no  uncertain  voice  the  ad- 
vent of  a  new  thought.  The  same  disposition  manifests  itself 
contemporaneously  in  France,  and  also  in  England.  A  new 
spirit  is  awaking:  all  that  is  now  needed  is  a  great  thinker  to 
help  it  into  full  self-consciousness  and  bring  life  wholly  under  its 
control.  Such  a  thinker  we  find  in  Descartes. 

(b)  The  Leaders  of  the  Enlightenment 

(a)    DESCARTES 

Descartes  touches  only  casually  upon  the  problems  and  in- 
terests of  human  life.  None  the  less,  he  has  a  right  to  be  included 
among  the  thinkers  whom  we  are  seeking  to  portray.  His  phi- 
losophy is  no  mere  erudite  research,  or  work  possessing  a  merely 
technical  interest;  for  through  its  influence  a  new  way  of 
thinking  is  evolved  which  wholly  transforms  the  spiritual  out- 
look: in  Descartes's  work  we  have  the  victorious  emergence,  in 
full  strength  and  clearness,  of  the  spirit  which  was  to  dominate 
the  future  centuries  and  stamp  an  enduring  impress  upon  man's 
spiritual  life. 

From  his  youth  upward  Descartes  was  dominated  by  an  ar- 
dent passion  for  complete  clearness.  This  it  was  which  rendered 
him  such  an  enthusiastic  devotee  of  mathematics  and  at  the 
same  time  made  him  conscious  of  the  intolerably  unsatisfactory 
condition  of  science  as  handed  down  by  scholasticism:  chaotic 
confusion,  revolution  in  a  perpetual  circle,  artificial  distinctions 
rather  than  fruitful  solutions — above  all,  a  lamentable  want  of 
certainty  and  fixity.  A  profound  scepticism  is  awakened  which 
strikes  at  the  very  roots  of  knowledge,  nor  are  the  resources  of 
the  existing  order  in  any  way  adequate  to  satisfy  the  demand? 


352  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

of  an  energetic  thinker.  There  is  no  confidence  in  the  authority 
of  historical  tradition;  indeed,  the  authorities  themselves  are 
full  of  contradictions;  as  for  the  senses,  apparently  our  most 
trustworthy  source  of  information  about  reality,  they  may  de- 
ceive us,  and  not  only  in  this  or  that  detail,  but  in  the  presenta- 
tion as  a  whole:  witness  dreams,  or  better  still,  the  fancies  of 
fever-patients.  We  do  indeed  trust  to  logical  chains  of  reason- 
ing, but  is  this  trust  justified  ?  Is  it  not  possible  that  a  mysteri- 
ous Power  should  so  have  constructed  us  that  our  very  obedi- 
ence to  the  laws  of  our  nature  should  lead  us  into  error  ?  In  a 
word,  there  is  nothing  we  can  trust:  no  conviction  so  estab- 
lished but  now  shows  signs  of  giving  way.  Doubt  remains,  ap- 
parently, in  full  possession  of  the  field.  From  such  a  painful 
position  there  could  be  only  one  means  of  escape:  the  discovery 
of  an  absolutely  fixed  point,  a  point  such  as  Archimedes  sought 
to  serve  him  as  a  fulcrum  for  moving  the  earth;  only  from  such 
a  point  would  it  be  possible  to  bring  any  certainty  into  knowl- 
edge. But  turn  where  we  will,  where  are  we  to  find  such  a 
point?  It  cannot  be  outside  us;  we  can  look  for  it  only  in  our- 
selves, and  we  find  it  here  in  thought,  in  mental  activity.  Any 
particular  assertion,  in  fact  all  the  content  of  our  thinking,  may 
be  erroneous,  but  the  fact  remains  that  in  thinking  erroneously 
we  are  still  thinking.  Even  when  we  doubt,  we  are  thinking, 
and  so  even  doubt  itself  confirms  the  fact  of  our  thinking.  In 
thinking,  however,  there  is  involved  the  thinking  subject,  the 
Ego — not  derived  from  it  by  a  wearisome  process  of  inference, 
but  immediately  present  in  it.  Thus  the  maxim,  "I  think, 
therefore  I  am"  (cogito,  ergo  sum)  has  to  bear  the  weight  of  the 
whole  philosophical  superstructure;  the  fulcrum  we  have 
sought  is  none  other  than  the  thinking  subject  itself.  It  is  here 
that  philosophy  must  take  its  stand,  and  find  a  starting-point  for 
all  further  development. 

This  may  seem  a  simple  line  to  take,  but  in  the  energy  and 
thoroughness  with  which  it  is  followed  up,  it  betokens  nothing 
less  than  a  complete  revolution.  For  whereas  formerly  the  world 
was  the  fixed  point,  and  the  problem  was  to  justify  the  transi- 


THE  RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  353 

tion  to  man,  now  the  starting-point  is  the  Ego  and  we  have  to 
explain  the  transition  to  the  world.  This  change  not  only  affects 
the  method  of  inquiry;  it  gives  an  entirely  new  content  to  reality. 
— Descartes  cannot,  however,  use  the  Ego  as  the  basis  of  his 
world-philosophy  without  further  strengthening  our  ground  for 
belief  in  its  capacity;  and  his  point  is  that  if  we  are  to  have  full 
confidence  in  our  reason,  there  must  be  a  God,  an  Absolute 
Reason,  making  our  finite  reason  worthy  of  trust.  He  therefore 
seeks  to  prove  the  existence  of  a  divine  Being,  an  Infinite  and 
Almighty  Intelligence.  Of  such  a  Being,  veracity  is  of  the  very 
essence.  He  cannot  lead  our  reason  astray,  if  it  conscientiously 
obey  the  laws  of  its  own  nature.  But  this  it  can  do  only  by  re- 
fusing to  admit  as  true  anything  that  is  not  just  as  evident,  just 
as  clear  and  distinct,  as  is  the  implication  of  our  own  existence 
in  the  fact  of  thinking.  Here  we  have  a  safe  criterion,  and  at  the 
same  time  an  incentive  to  undertake  a  most  thorough  sifting  of 
all  that  has  been  transmitted  to  us  from  the  past  as  true.  Error 
no  longer  seems  to  be  a  necessity  of  our  nature,  but  rather  to  be 
explained  by  the  fact  that  the  impetuosity  of  our  desire  for 
knowledge  urges  us  to  a  conclusion  before  we  have  attained  the 
necessary  degree  of  clearness  and  distinctness.  But  in  that  case, 
we  can  avoid  error,  if  we  will,  by  bridling  our  impetuosity  and 
practising  a  stern  self-discipline.  Though  we  cannot  reach  the 
whole  truth,  yet  the  truth  that  we  do  reach  may  be  unadulterated 
and  trustworthy.  So  self-criticism  does  not  originate  with  Kant, 
but  appears  at  the  very  outset  as  a  main  requirement  of  modern 
science  and  modern  culture. 

The  proofs  by  which  Descartes  supports  these  contentions  are 
in  many  respects  open  to  criticism;  the  grounds  he  gives  for  be- 
lieving in  the  existence  of  God  are  almost  wofully  unsatisfactory. 
But  when  a  great  thinker  produces  proofs  the  inadequacy  of 
which  is  obvious  to  any  one  of  average  intelligence,  we  may 
always  surmise  that  at  the  back  of  the  proofs  he  adduces  there 
is  something  original,  axiomatic,  intuitively  certain,  and  that  he 
is  impelled  by  an  inward  necessity  for  which  he  cannot  find  the 
right  expression.  Descartes,  feeling  human  reason  to  be  the 


354  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

source  of  all  knowledge  and  the  criterion  of  reality,  was  natu- 
rally influenced  by  a  strong  desire  to  ground  it  securely  in  the 
Universal  Reason.  The  inevitable  result  was  a  circulus  in 
demonslrando,  and  this  circle  again  points  to  a  discrepancy  in 
first  principles;  still,  the  immediate  purpose  was  attained:  the 
philosopher  was  now  fortified  in  his  own  conviction  and  could 
enter  upon  his  work  in  all  confidence. 

The  task  that  presents  itself  is  first  and  foremost  a  thorough- 
going revision  of  the  problem  of  knowledge:  nothing  can  be 
counted  as  knowledge  that  does  not  satisfy  the  demands  of 
clearness  and  distinctness,  but  in  bringing  knowledge  up  to  this 
standard,  we  immensely  increase  its  lucidity,  freshness  and 
coherence.  Mathematical  procedure  becomes  the  pattern 
for  all  scientific  inquiry.  As,  in  mathematics,  we  begin  with 
what  is  self-evident  and  press  forward  step  by  step  in  a  per- 
fectly sure  sequence,  never  straying  into  the  vague  regions 
of  the  undefined,  but  keeping  all  our  manifold  data  within 
the  bonds  of  systematic  arrangement,  so  now  we  must  bring 
the  same  ideals  into  philosophy  and  scientific  work  generally. 
In  so  far  as  we  do  this,  we  may  expect  knowledge  to  show 
a  perpetual  advance,  whereas  the  scholastic  procedure  ne- 
cessitated the  same  ground  being  covered  over  and  over 
again. 

But  Descartes  does  not  only  succeed  in  achieving  a  reform  or, 
shall  we  say,  a  revolution  in  science;  he  inaugurates  a  new  era 
of  general  culture.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  culture  was  first  and 
foremost  a  historical  product.  Reason  could  do  nothing  with- 
out receiving  the  support  and  sanction  of  the  supreme  powers- 
tradition  and  authority.  Now,  however,  there  arises  a  culture 
the  basis  of  which  is  man's  own  intuitive  insight  and  the  reason 
which  dwells  within  him.  If  only  that  is  to  be  good  and  true 
which  is  immediately  evident  to  our  reason,  much  that  has  hith- 
erto been  reckoned  as  a  solid  and  valuable  possession  must 
indeed  lose  its  importance,  and  we  run  the  risk  of  hasty  nega- 
tions and  an  extreme  radicalism.  There  is,  however,  a  posi- 
tive and  constructive  side  to  this  criticism  of  the  traditional 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  355 

status,  a  discovery  of  new  standards  and  values,  a  more 
searching  and  original  treatment  of  the  problems  of  human 
existence. 

The  main  result  of  the  desire  for  clearness  is  seen  in  man's 
changed  conception  of  his  own  being  and  of  the  relation  between 
nature  and  spirit.  As  the  claims  of  thought  become  more  im- 
perative, they  prove  fatal  to  that  conception  of  body  and  soul 
which  had  been  hitherto  prevalent — a  conception  which  re- 
garded them  as  mutually  inseparable,  but  endowed  the  material 
factor  with  inward  forces  and  impulses,  whereas  the  spiritual 
was  left  vague  and  undefined,  at  the  mercy  of  any  material  meta- 
phor. In  proportion  as  each  began  to  be  more  clearly  defined 
and  referred  back  to  a  single  principle,  the  impossibility  of  con- 
necting them  in  any  immediate  way  became  apparent.  The  es- 
sence of  soul  is  conscious  activity — thinking  in  the  wider  sense 
of  the  term;  the  essence  of  body  is  extension  in  space.  The 
soul's  activity  is  reflective:  it  is  always  rounding  back  upon 
itself,  or  rather,  it  remains  self-centred  even  when  its  endeavour 
appears  to  be  outwardly  directed.  The  action  of  bodies,  on  the 
other  hand,  consists  in  their  mutual  contact  and  interaction. 
The  soul  is  essentially  indivisible;  matter,  as  spatially  extended, 
is  infinitely  divisible.  Thus  dualism  becomes  a  necessity;  and, 
however  true  it  is  that  man  could  not  rest  satisfied  in  it  forever, 
it  was  yet  an  inevitable  stage  in  his  progress,  and  a  stimulus  to 
further  effort.  Especially  has  it  rendered  valuable  service  by  its 
clear  separation  of  mind  from  matter,  thus  necessitating  a  vigor- 
ous and  clear  development  of  the  two  departments,  each  along 
its  own  line.  Now  for  the  first  time  each  can  be  explained  from 
its  own  particular  context,  the  psychical  psychologically,  and  the 
physical  by  physics.  It  was  this  which  first  made  possible  the 
exact  sciences  and  a  self-interpreting  psychology.  Again,  as 
regards  the  social  life,  this  separation  of  mind  from  matter  was 
the  most  important  agency  in  restraining  the  barbarous  crusade 
against  witchcraft,  a  crusade  supported  by  the  adherents  of  all 
the  religious  confessions.  Its  chief  opponent,  Balthasar  Bekker, 
was  an  enthusiastic  Cartesian,  and  even  in  the  criminal  courts 


356  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

themselves  the  influence  of  the  enlightened  Cartesian  position 
can  be  directly  traced. 

This  separation  of  the  psychical  from  the  physical  necessi- 
tated an  important  understanding  concerning  the  demarcation 
of  boundaries.  The  sense-properties  of  things — the  rich  variety 
of  colours,  sounds,  etc. — which  had  hitherto  been  looked  on  as 
inherent  in  the  things  themselves,  prove  on  closer  examination 
to  be  contributed  by  the  soul,  and  to  be  the  reactions  with  which 
she  responds  from  the  storehouse  of  her  own  inner  nature  to 
the  stimulus  from  outside.  The  wonderful  magic  of  nature 
which  so  delights  and  enchants  us  does  not  really  belong  to  her, 
but  is  lent  her  by  the  soul,  which  clothes  with  this  splendid  gar- 
ment the  inanimate  world  of  matter  and  motion.  Nature  thus 
loses  all  soul  and  psychic  quality;  she  stands  over  against  man 
as  something  strange  and  alien;  before  her  immensity,  the 
sphere  of  the  soul  threatens  to  shrivel  into  a  contemptible  small- 
ness.  But  to  Descartes  himself  this  turn  of  things  seems  more 
suggestive  of  gain  than  of  loss.  Nature,  freed  from  all  psychic 
elements,  can  at  last  become  quite  transparent  to  thought.  She 
now  presents  herself  as  a  collection  of  tiniest  atoms  endowed 
from  the  outset  with  a  power  of  movement;  she  becomes  a  sys- 
tem of  simple  powers  and  laws,  a  great  piece  of  machinery,  far 
superior  in  its  exquisite  delicacy  of  adjustment  to  any  human 
contrivance,  while  yet  its  separation  from  such  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  degree.  Even  the  most  intricate  organism  is  nothing 
more  than  a  machine  of  the  highest  possible  degree  of  perfec- 
tion; if  the  old  physicists  made  the  organism  their  starting- 
point  for  a  comprehension  of  nature  generally,  now  the  organic 
must  find  its  place  in  a  scheme  that  is  purely  mechanical.  The 
actions  of  material  bodies  are  not  determined  from  within,  but 
are  dependent  on  a  stimulus  from  without;  nature  is  one  vast, 
immeasurable  network  of  reciprocal  relations.  This  transforma- 
tion of  nature  into  an  inanimate  mechanism  made  upon  later 
generations  a  general  impression  of  artificiality  and  lifelessness, 
but,  at  the  time,  the  prevalent  feeling  was  one  of  pride  and  de- 
light in  the  control  of  nature  by  means  of  our  ideas,  and — sec- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  357 

ondarily — in  its  subordination  to  our  purposes.  For  it  was  not 
till  nature  had  been  reduced  by  analysis  to  its  simplest  elements, 
that  it  was  at  all  possible  to  carry  out  Bacon's  programme  of 
controlling  it  through  the  insight  and  skill  of  man.  Des- 
cartes did  not  neglect  the  technical  aspect  of  the  question;  his 
correspondence  shows  convincingly  to  what  an  extent  he  busied 
himself  with  technical  problems.  But  in  the  last  resort,  he  made 
i  all  utilitarian  considerations  yield  place  to  the  value  of  knowl- 
edge for  its  own  sake,  to  the  joy  of  illumining  those  regions  of 
nature  which  would  otherwise  remain  in  darkness.  He  was  the 
first  to  give  a  systematic  and  precise  interpretation  of  nature  in 
terms  of  natural  law. 

The  autonomy  thus  obtained  by  nature  is  accorded  equally 
to  the  soul.  Though  with  Descartes  the  soul  is  deprived  of  all 
extension  in  the  universe  and  is  strictly  limited  to  man,  it  be- 
comes thereby,  only  the  more  certainly,  underived  and  inde- 
pendent. No  outside  influence  can  reach  it,  save  with  its  own 
co-operation;  all  outward  expression  in  life  must  originate  in 
the  depths  of  its  own  being.  But  this  would  be  impossible  if  it 
were  empty  to  begin  with.  To  be  independent,  it  must  have  an 
original  endowment  of  its  own,  a  secure  heritage  of  indubitable 
verities,  of  "innate  ideas."  Though  we  cannot  become  clearly 
conscious  of  them  until  we  reach  a  certain  level  of  development, 
yet  they  are  there  from  the  beginning,  directing  our  effort.  The 
doctrine  of  innate  ideas  is  indispensable  if  we  wish  to  maintain 
the  self-sufficiency  of  the  soul  and  the  independence  of  thought. 

We  need  go  no  further  than  this  doctrine  to  see  the  supreme 
importance  which  attaches  to  intellect  in  the  Cartesian  con- 
ception of  the  soul.  This  predominance  is  due  to  a  gradual 
and  unnoticed  change  in  the  meaning  of  thought.  From  being 
at  the  outset  the  fundamental  energy  of  the  whole  soul  with  the 
very  general  meaning  of  conscious  activity,  it  narrows  into  the 
specialised  meaning  of  conceptual  thinking,  the  activity  of 
knowledge.  Intellect  is  more  important  than  sense-perception, 
since  the  latter  is  not  a  purely  self-conditioned  form  of  conscious- 
ness, but  is  also  conditioned  from  without.  It  also  takes  prece- 


358  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

dence  of  will,  since  willing  involves  a  thinking  and  knowing. 
So  knowing  presents  itself  as  the  nucleus  for  the  development  of 
the  whole  life  of  the  soul,  a  development  through  which  our 
entire  existence  is  brought  to  the  stage  of  self-determined  activity. 
Our  happiness,  too,  seems  to  be  entirely  bound  up  with  our 
thinking.  Scientific  insight  gives  us  power  over  our  feelings, 
and  a  remedy  for  all  pains  and  sorrows.  For  it  shows  us  that  the 
things  outside  us  are  not  subject  to  our  control,  and  what  we 
know  to  be  impossible  cannot  rouse  our  interest.  Our  thoughts, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  within  our  own  power;  we  can  concen- 
trate them  on  the  infinite  universe,  and  in  the  knowledge  of  its 
greatness  our  own  being  expands.  "When  we  love  God,  and 
through  Him  feel  our  union  in  spirit  (voluntate)  with  all  created 
things,  then  the  greater,  nobler  and  more  perfect  our  concep- 
tion of  these  things,  the  more  do  we  value  ourselves  as  being 
parts  of  the  perfect  Whole."  At  first  sight  these  seem  only 
casual  remarks,  but  they  are  faithful  to  the  spirit  of  the  system, 
and  indicate  clearly  the  line  of  advance  which  was  to  receive  its 
classical  expression  in  the  life-scheme  elaborated  by  Spinoza. 

There  is  much  in  Descartes  that  is  incomplete;  but  to  urge 
this  as  a  reproach  against  the  genius  who  opened  up  new  worlds  of 
thought  would  be  thankless  and  perverse.  On  points  of  supreme 
importance  he  has  not  only  thrown  out  most  valuable  sugges- 
tions, but  has  determined  movements  of  far-reaching  import. 
The  modern  tendency  to  start  from  the  thinking  subject,  the 
establishment  of  a  rationalistic  culture,  the  precise  investigation 
of  nature  with  its  leaning  toward  mechanical  conceptions,  the 
self-centredness  of  the  psychical  life  with  its  exaggerated  appre- 
ciation of  the  intellect — these  things  all  owe  their  philosophical 
foundation  to  Descartes.  Much  of  it  seems  to  us  to-day  less 
characteristic  and  less  great  precisely  for  the  reason  that  it  has 
become  a  component  part  of  our  being  and  we  take  it  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  Moreover,  the  smoothness  and  clearness  of  ex- 
position often  make  us  forget  the  profound  and  original  charac- 
ter of  the  content.  Whether  at  the  same  time  certain  essential 
problems  have  remained  untouched,  whether  the  triumph  of 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  359 

simplicity  has  been  purchased  at  the  cost  of  ignoring  whole 
groups  of  facts,  we  will  not  here  discuss.  In  any  case,  Descartes's 
genius  for  clearness  and  simplicity  makes  him  the  best  guide  to 
our  study  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  Enlightenment.  In  Des- 
cartes we  see  both  the  motives  which  impelled  the  rise  and 
growth  of  the  movement,  and  the  difficulties  attaching  to  it  from 
the  very  outset.  There  can  be  no  better  starting-point  for  estima- 
ting alike  its  greatness  and  its  limitations. 

We  cannot  pass  from  Descartes  to  Spinoza  without  at  least 
mentioning  certain  typical  thinkers  among  his  contemporaries. 
Thomas  Hobbes  (1588-1679),  one  of  the  most  consistent  think- 
ers of  any  epoch,  made  it  his  special  work  to  extend  to  the  whole 
of  our  world  the  mechanical  conception  of  nature  which  he  had 
helped  to  establish.  This  is  the  real  bearing  of  his  attempt  to 
rid  the  soul,  no  less  than  the  State,  of  all  inwardness  of  life  and 
wholeness  of  conception,  and  to  view  it  in  an  entirely  new  light 
as  a  mechanically-propelled  contrivance.  This  view  he  has 
maintained  with  admirable  vigour  and  clearness,  though,  it  must 
be  confessed  too,  in  a  decidedly  narrow  spirit.*  Thinkers  who 
in  this  fashion  stake  everything  on  the  development  of  one  single 
fundamental  conception  usually  find  few  unconditional  support- 
ers and  found  no  school.  But  they  stamp  themselves  with  all 
the  force  and  clearness  of  a  distinct  type  upon  the  whole  domain 
of  man's  activity.  They  are  ever  ready  with  question  and  an- 
swer wherever  their  problems  are  seriously  discussed.  Thus 
Hobbes  influenced  Spinoza  and  Leibniz;  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury he  was  held  in  high  esteem  especially  by  the  French  En- 
lightenment, and  he  has  commanded  the  attention  of  our  own 
century  right  up  to  the  present  day.  He  always  finds  friends; 
he  has  always  something  to  give,  even  to  his  opponents. 

More  helpful  for  the  understanding  of  our  human  life  are  the 
religious  movements  called  into  being  by  Descartes's  victorious 
championship  of  the  modern  spirit.  Religion  is  unable  to  com- 
ply with  the  new  demands  for  mathematical  clearness  and  dis- 
tinctness; must  she,  then,  fall,  or  will  she  find  new  ways  of  prov- 

*  See  Appendix  K. 


36o  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ing  her  truth?  Pascal  (1623-1662)  seeks  such  proof  in  feeling, 
which  he  regards  as  the  root  of  life  and  the  source  of  all  imme- 
diate certainty;  if  religion  takes  a  firm  stand  here,  then  all  the 
doubts  of  science  and  the  contradictions  of  daily  experience  are 
powerless  to  affect  her.  The  religious  life  becomes  more  tender 
and  emotional,  but  with  all  its  mildness,  it  remains  vigorous  and 
healthy  because  it  is  rooted  in  the  moral  sentiment,  which  it  de- 
fends against  Jesuitical  sophistry  in  the  most  courageous  way. 
Religion  brings  into  our  life  a  constant  agitation,  a  note  of 
breathless  expectancy,  in  that  it  first  awakes  men  to  a  full  con- 
sciousness of  the  misery  of  human  existence,  and  then  raises  them 
clear  above  it  by  enabling  them  to  lay  hold  on  Infinite  Love.  Its 
revelation  of  man's  possible  greatness  is  the  first  thing  that 
brings  home  to  him  his  littleness,  but  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  his 
littleness  which  first  makes  him  fully  conscious  of  his  greatness. 
"  Who  is  unhappy  at  not  being  a  king  save  a  king  who  has  been 
dethroned?"  In  such  a  mood  there  is  a  marked  tendency  to 
oscillate  between  extremes,  to  run  from  one  side  to  the  other,  to 
doubt  and  yet  be  certain,  to  seek  and  yet  have.  "Thou  wouldst 
not  be  seeking  me  hadst  thou  not  already  found  me."  So  there 
arises  a  religion  of  personal  sentiment  and  inward  experience, 
a  purely  individual  concern,  which  does  not  set  up  any  new 
spiritual  order  and  is,  therefore,  not  in  opposition  to  any  exist- 
ing ecclesiastical  organisation,  but  finds  its  place  and  does  its 
work  within  such  organisations.  This  was  not  the  Reformation 
spirit,  able  to  lift  the  world  out  of  old  ruts  and  set  it  upon  new 
paths;  but  in  helping  to  keep  alive  the  true  spirit  of  religion  in 
face  of  all  the  outward  ceremonial  of  ecclesiasticism  it  has  ren- 
dered and  still  continues  to  render  very  valuable  service. 

Pierre  Bayle  (1647-1706)  deals  with  kindred  problems,  but 
in  a  very  different  spirit.  Christianity  and  Reason  seem  to  him 
irreconcilably  at  variance;  no  religion  is  so  much  opposed  to  a 
solution  in  terms  of  reason.  It  is  especially  the  problem  of  evil 
— the  difficulty  of  reconciling  the  unspeakable  misery  of  the 
world  with  the  belief  in  an  almighty  and  all-righteous  God — 
which  is  always  occupying  him  and  estranging  him  from  any 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  361 

dogmatic  creed.  But  since  at  the  same  time  he  is  filled  with  a 
profound  mistrust  of  man's  knowing  capacity  and  even  of  his 
moral  soundness,  he  is  not  willing  to  dispense  with  the  support 
of  religion;  only  it  should  be  simple  and  tolerant,  and  find  its 
main  function  in  the  purification  of  the  inward  life.  But  even 
in  his  affirmations,  he  shows  so  much  scepticism,  so  much  bi- 
ting sarcasm,  so  much  pessimistic  understanding  of  the  human 
soul,  that  even  his  personal  honour  was  often  impugned,  though 
we  believe  unjustly.  In  any  case,  we  have  here  the  origin  of  a 
peculiar  type  of  thought  which  persisted  right  through  the 
eighteenth  century;  a  no  less  distinguished  person  than  Fred- 
erick II  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Bayle. 

*In  France,  religious  development  falls  into  an  unfortunate 
predicament.  On  the  one  hand,  an  ostentatious  ecclesiasticism 
has  to  be  kept  up  for  political  reasons,  and  a  court-theology  of  a 
showy  kind  is  developed  (Bossuet).  'On  the  other  hand,  the 
wider  public  becomes  increasingly  estranged  from  religion  and 
views  its  problems  with  an  easy  unconcern.  But  if  this  outward 
and  superficial  treatment  of  religious  things  is  the  outstanding 
feature  of  modern  France,  it  is  only  fair  to  remember  that  it  is 
just  the  French  spirit  which  has  experienced  a  particularly  strong 
reaction  against  it.  Stern  monastic  discipline,  unconditional  re- 
nunciation, severest  penance — nowhere  in  the  modern  world 
have  these  things  had  a  greater  development  than  in  France. 
"Nowhere  do  the  extremes  of  the  French  national  character 
come  more  clearly  to  light  than  in  the  sphere  of  religion.  The 
reverse  side  of  its  worldliness  and  pleasure-seeking,  its  scoffing 
superciliousness  and  its  audacious  denials,  has  been,  in  all  peri- 
ods of  its  history,  the  seriousness  of  a  stern  and  often  harsh  re- 
ligious sentiment.  Verified  in  the  individual's  own  inward  ex- 
perience, it  has  schooled  countless  numbers  to  penance  and  puri- 
fication. In  public  life,  it  has  waxed  into  fanaticism,  tyranny 
and  persecution,  and  has  left  upon  French  history  in  the  course 
of  the  centuries  a  dark  impress  of  cruelty"  (Lady  Blennerhas- 
sett). 

*  See  Appendii  L. 


362  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

(/3)   SPINOZA 

(aa)  Introduction. — The  remarkable  fortunes  of  Spinoza's 
philosophy  are  of  themselves  sufficient  indication  of  its  pecu- 
liarly complex  character.  It  is  the  natural  outcome  of  the  En- 
lightenment and  completes  certain  tendencies  of  that  move- 
ment. It  is  with  Spinoza  first  that  the  Enlightenment  succeeds 
in  producing  a  really  great  conception  of  the  world.  Spinoza 
first  shows  it  the  way  into  that  which  is  most  inward  and  essen- 
tially human.  But  in  spite  of  this,  his  philosophy  was  not  ac- 
cepted by  the  period  itself  nor  allowed  free  room  for  develop- 
ment. Not  only  adherents  of  orthodoxy,  but  free-thinkers  of  the 
broadest  type,  such  as  Bayle,  flatly  refused  to  consider  it. 
Its  opportunity  arrived  only  when  people  began  to  weary  of 
the  Enlightenment  and  find  its  way  of  thought  too  narrow. 
Then  began  a  period  of  ardent  enthusiasm  for  Spinoza:  a  new 
generation  had  found  in  him  the  classical  expression  of  its  con- 
viction and  its  faith.  Consequently  much  has  been  read  into 
Spinoza,  but  still  there  must  have  been  in  him  something  more 
than  the  Enlightenment  had  attained  to,  or  the  great  German 
poets  could  never  have  held  him  in  such  warm  veneration. 

It  is  curious,  too,  that  Spinoza  should  have  received  honour 
from  such  widely  different  and  even  opposed  quarters.  Relig- 
ious and  artistic  natures,  speculative  philosophers  and  the  em- 
piricists of  science,  idealists  and  realists  and  even  materialists, 
have  felt  a  common  sympathy  in  their  appreciation  of  Spinoza. 
This,  of  course,  was  possible  only  because  each  saw  in  him 
something  different,  but  the  possibility  of  these  different  inter- 
pretations must  in  last  resort  be  due  to  something  in  the  philos- 
opher himself.  But  how  can  we  explain  this,  seeing  that  before 
everything  else  he  strove  after  unity,  and  that  his  system  appears 
to  be  so  eminently  self-contained  ?  Let  us  see  whether  a  closer 
examination  may  help  us  to  solve,  or  at  least  to  lessen,  a  diffi- 
culty which  at  first  sight  appears  so  perplexing. 

(bb)  The  World  and  Man. — It  is  the  relationship  of  world  and 
man  that  constitutes  the  central  problem  for  Spinoza;  the  rela- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  363 

tionship  is  dealt  with  more  particularly  in  his  great  work,  the 
"  Ethics."  The  exposition  takes  the  unexciting  form  of  a  math- 
ematical demonstration,  but  its  matter  teems  with  life  and 
movement,  so  that  the  fate  of  man  is  made  to  pass  before  our 
eyes  as  though  in  some  magnificent  drama.  Spinoza  begins  by 
waging  bitter  war  upon  human  pretensions.  The  world  cannot 
reveal  its  true  nature  without  a  weeding  out  of  all  the  human 
attributes  that  have  been  introduced  into  it.  And  when  this 
process  has  been  completed,  we  find  ourselves  left  with  an  en- 
tirely changed  idea  of  man:  he  has  dwindled  into  an  insignifi- 
cant detail  in  the  vast  machinery  of  the  universe.  But  he  is  not 
left  in  this  low  estate.  A  path  of  escape  opens  out,  leading  to  a 
new  elevation,  for  he  may  conceive  the  world  as  a  whole  and  be- 
come spiritually  one  with  it,  so  as  to  appropriate  to  himself  its 
greatness,  its  eternity  and  its  infinitude.  But  this  is  possible 
only  on  condition  that  he  utterly  renounces  all  separateness  and 
all  desire  after  separateness,  sinking  himself  completely  in  the 
universal  life.  Thus  the  final  acceptance  is  not  without  an 
element  of  stern  refusal,  and  the  glad  courageous  note  of  the 
concluding  strain  is  something  very  different  from  the  voice  of 
mere  natural  impulse. 

In  his  construction  of  the  world  Spinoza  seeks  to  exclude  all 
human  contribution  as  tending  to  a  perversion  of  the  facts,  and 
to  find  an  interpretation  of  the  universe  in  itself  alone.  All  the 
oppositions  of  human  thought  must,  therefore,  be  overcome 
within  the  unity  of  a  single  system.  First  and  foremost  falls 
away  the  opposition  between  the  World  and  God.  These  are  not 
different  realities,  but  are  related  within  the  one  and  only  reality 
as  existence  and  essence,  phenomenon  and  ultimate  ground, 
nature  as  product  and  nature  as  producing  power  (natura 
naturata  and  natura  naturans}.  God  is  Pure  Being,  the  under- 
lying Principle  of  all  particular  forms,  containing  them  within 
Himself  in  their  entirety.  We  can,  therefore,  be  more  certain  of 
Him  than  of  anything  else,  and  knowledge  of  Him  is  a  necessary 
preliminary  to  all  other  insight.  Understood  in  this  sense,  God 
has  no  need  to  go  out  of  Himself  in  order  to  work  upon  things, 


364  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

but  all  working  is  within  His  life  and  essence.  To  use  the  tech- 
nical scholastic  phrase,  He  is  the  Immanent  Cause  of  things. 
So  it  is  truer  to  say  that  the  world  is  in  God  than  that  God  is  in 
the  world. 

A  God  of  this  kind  who  comprehends  in  Himself  the  whole 
extent  of  infinity  must  not  be  conceived  as  being  in  any  way  like 
unto  man.  Even  our  highest  spiritual  activities,  such  as  think- 
ing and  willing,  are  far  too  closely  connected  with  the  world  of 
phenomena  to  characterise  that  which  is  infinite  and  all-em- 
bracing. Moreover,  it  is  impossible  that  God  should  make  the 
welfare  of  man  His  chief  concern,  arranging  everything  for  this 
special  end,  and,  maybe,  rewarding  and  punishing  man  according 
to  his  deserts.  This  would  give  far  too  petty  and  anthropomor- 
phic a  picture  of  the  Universal  Being,  besides  being  entirely 
opposed  to  the  testimony  of  our  every-day  experience.  For  ex- 
perience teaches  us  that  the  world  pursues  its  own  course  in 
complete  indifference  to  the  wishes  and  aims  of  man,  and  that 
good  and  evil  fortune  visit  alike  the  just  and  the  unjust;  nor  do 
storms,  earthquakes  and  diseases  spare  even  the  best  of  men. 
Not  only  in  all  this  is  there  no  evidence  of  any  special  care  for 
man,  but,  to  speak  more  generally,  all  purposive  action  is  un- 
worthy of  God.  It  is  precisely  this  which  constitutes  His  great- 
ness, that  He  wishes  for  nothing  outside  Himself,  His  own  in- 
finite being,  which  amidst  all  Its  activity,  unaffected  by  any 
temporal  changes,  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  at  rest  in 
Itself  alone. 

The  world  had  always  been  pictured  as  torn  and  divided 
against  itself,  for  man  is  wont  to  transfer  to  things  themselves 
the  oppositions  which  exist  for  his  own  feeling :  as  good  and  evil, 
orderly  and  chaotic,  beautiful  and  ugly;  in  this  way  he  falsifies 
reality  and  introduces  division  into  what  is  really  one  uninter- 
rupted sequence.  If  things  are  no  longer  thus  treated  errone- 
ously, but  are  contemplated  simply  in  themselves  without  the 
intrusion  of  any  subjective  valuation,  everything  fits  together, 
and  all  manifoldness  unites  to  form  one  single  universal  life 
grounded  in  the  Eternal  Substance.  It  is  true  that  in  the  unfold- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  365 

ing  of  this  life,  whether  in  nature  or  in  the  soul,  we  are  concerned 
with  purely  individual  occurrences,  but  these  occurrences  are 
systematically  connected;  not  only  are  they  bound  together  in 
an  uninterrupted  chain  of  causation,  not  only  are  simple  and 
immutable  laws  at  work  through  all  the  complexity  of  events, 
but  the  events  themselves  are  in  last  resort  nothing  else  than 
unfoldings  of  the  Divine  Essence,  temporal  manifestations  of 
the  Eternal  Being,  wave  upon  wave  in  the  ocean  of  Infinity. 

Once  reality  has  thus  been  welded  together,  we  may  hope  for 
a  transcendence  of  the  opposition  between  the  material  and  the 
spiritual,  an  opposition  which  Descartes  had  rendered  intolerably 
acute.  At  the  same  time,  we  have  to  deal  with  the  relation  of 
subject  and  object,  of  thought  and  being,  with  the  problem  of 
truth.  The  older  thought,  reaching  right  back  to  Plato,  found 
no  difficulty  in  conceiving  truth  as  the  correspondence  of  our 
thinking  with  an  object  external  to  it.  For  the  world  about  us 
and  the  nature  within  us  seemed  to  be  akin,  our  own  life  expand- 
ing through  the  foreign  elements  it  appropriated.  The  modern 
separation  of  world  and  subject  precludes  all  such  intimate 
interaction.  Is  there  any  means  of  bringing  about  a  new  kind 
of  connection,  not,  indeed,  through  Descartes's  artificial  and 
roundabout  devices,  but  in  a  straightforward  and  natural 
manner  ? 

Spinoza  believes  that  he  can  really  provide  such  a  means. 
For  him,  matter  and  mind  are  not  different  things,  but  only 
different  aspects  of  one  and  the  same  thing,  only  developments, 
presentations,  existential  manifestations  of  one  and  the  same 
fundamental  substance.  Each  series  runs  its  own  course  in 
complete  independence  of  the  other,  without  any  interaction  or 
mutual  disturbance.  But  they  are  both  in  complete  agreement, 
since  the  event  is  in  essence  one  and  the  same  whether  it  fall  in 
the  one  series  or  the  other.  Such  a  shifting  of  the  dualism  from 
the  real  to  the  phenomenal  seems  to  offer  an  easy  solution  to  a 
difficult  problem,  and  has  the  additional  advantage  of  doing  no 
injustice  to  either  side,  but  allowing  each  to  develop  to  the  full 
its  own  peculiar  nature. 


366  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

There  ensues  a  unification  of  thought  and  being.  They  are 
not  constrained  to  agreement  from  without,  but  they  are  in  per- 
fect accord  since  each  is  grounded  in  the  one  Infinite  Substance. 
In  order  to  reach  truth,  complete  truth,  thought  has  simply  to 
concentrate  all  its  energy  upon  itself,  allow  no  interference  from 
outside,  weed  out  all  confused  ideas,  obey  its  own  laws,  relin- 
quish all  anthropomorphism,  and  become  a  thought  objectively 
controlled.  And  this  is  not  feasible  till  all  human  prejudices 
and  illusions  are  set  aside.  Then  only  do  the  order  and  connec- 
tion of  concepts  coincide  with  the  order  and  connection  of  things; 
then  only  does  the  logical  sequence  of  ideas  answer  point  for 
point  to  the  real  sequence  of  events,  and  the  world  of  thought 
become  a  faithful  mirror  of  that  which  transpires  in  the  world 
of  matter.  And  this  close  correspondence  proceeds,  not  from 
any  external  adjustments,  but  from  the  common  grounding  of 
the  two  series  in  one  and  the  same  substance.  Thought-process 
and  nature-process  together  constitute  the  whole  of  reality 
within  which  everything  moves  with  calm,  inevitable  certainty. 
There  are  no  dark  corners  left,  but  all  things,  even  to  their 
innermost  recesses,  are  flooded  with  light. 

(cc)  Man  and  his  Littleness. — The  universe  could  only  obtain 
this  predominance  by  being  completely  dehumanized  and  lifted 
sheer  above  the  ideas  and  purposes  of  man.  Man  is  hencefor- 
ward merely  a  part  of  the  universe;  he  has  no  longer  any 
special  exemptions  and  privileges;  he  forms  no  "state  within 
the  state"  (imperium  in  imperio}.  Just  as  his  whole  existence 
is  only  a  single  incident,  a  "mode"  in  the  infinite  universe,  so 
his  body  is  only  a  part  of  infinite  extension,  his  spirit  a  part  of 
infinite  thought.  As  the  body,  so  mechanical  doctrine  assures 
us,  is  only  a  cohesion  of  tiny  atoms,  so  the  spirit  is  only  a  plexus 
of  simple  ideas;  it  has  no  inner  unity:  the  will  and  the  under- 
standing are  nothing  apart  from  the  individual  acts  of  will  and 
the  individual  thoughts.  Moreover,  since  willing  is  not  some- 
thing distinct  from  thinking,  but  only  an  aspect  of  thought  itself 
— namely,  the  assertion  of  reality  which  is  implied  in  every  act 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  367 

of  conception — the  whole  man  becomes  merely  a  mechanical 
complex  of  simple  ideas,  or,  to  use  the  philosopher's  own  expres- 
sion, a  "spiritual  machine"  (automaton  spirituale).  This  is  a 
great  advance  in  clearness.  But  it  is  purchased  at  the  cost  of 
surrendering  all  freedom  of  action;  the  decision  which  is  osten- 
sibly ours  is  really  only  a  product  of  this  animated  mechanism; 
our  consciousness  of  freedom  is  merely  due  to  the  fact  that  very 
often,  though  conscious  of  our  actions,  we  are  ignorant  of  their 
causes,  and  therefore  look  upon  them  as  uncaused.  Accord- 
ingly, man's  actions  and  desires  should  be  treated  as  mere 
natural  units,  such  as  points,  surfaces  and  solids.  Commisera- 
tion and  ridicule  are  equally  out  of  place  here;  what  we  need  is 
to  understand. 

Such  subordination  of  man  to  nature  leaves  man  directly 
subject  to  natural  laws.  The  same  impulse  which  moves  every- 
thing outside  us  regulates  also  our  own  activity:  the  impulse, 
namely,  to  self-preservation.  It  is  not  merely  a  characteristic  of 
our  nature:  it  is  our  nature.  We  can  never  look  away  from 
ourselves,  never  act  in  the  interest  of  another,  but  only  in  our 
own  interest.  But  what  conduces  to  the  preservation  or  advance- 
ment of  the  self,  we  term  "useful."  Hence  all  our  actions  aim 
at  utility:  the  more  capable  a  man  is,  the  more  energetically 
will  he  strive  for  his  own  advantage. 

But  in  the  realm  of  experience,  where  individual  beings  meet 
and  cross  each  other,  now  helping,  now  hindering,  there  arise 
numberless  complications,  and  the  machinery  is  hi  ceaseless 
movement.  Here  the  passions  (emotional  dispositions)  hold 
sway;  here  the  struggle  for  happiness  is  fought  out;  here  love 
blossoms  forth  and  hate.  Moreover,  this  whole  subjective  life 
of  ours  varies  according  to  the  pressure  of  the  forces  at  work, 
and  our  relationships  with  men  and  things  are  measured  by 
their  performance-value,  by  the  extent  to  which  they  enhance 
the  fulness  of  life.  Owing  to  the  complex  and  intricate  nature 
of  reality  this  dependence  may  easily  escape  our  immediate 
notice,  but  philosophical  investigation  soon  discloses  the  neces- 
sary character  of  what  seems  to  be  arbitrary  and  lends  support 


368  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

to  those  who  would  treat  human  life  by  the  methods  of  natural 
science. 

The  issue  involves  our  pleasure  and  our  pain,  but  what  are 
we  to  understand  by  these  terms?  Pleasure  is  the  condition 
which  attends  the  spirit's  passage  toward  greater  perfection; 
pain,  that  which  attends  its  lapse  into  a  state  of  less  perfection, 
the  degree  of  perfection  being  measured  by  the  intensity  of  the 
vital  process.  But  pleasure  and  pain  bring  love  and  hate  in 
their  train.  Love  arises  when  an  object  is  represented  as  the 
cause  of  pleasure;  hate,  when  it  is  represented  as  the  cause 
of  pain.  The  quality  of  the  experience  stamps  that  which  pro- 
duced it  as  either  friendly  or  hostile.  Hence,  even  in  love  and 
hate,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  caprice;  that  which  helps  us,  we 
are  bound  to  love;  that  which  harms  us,  we  hate,  and  we  are 
unable  to  change  even  the  least  particle  of  such  love  and  hate. 
Love  and  hate,  moreover,  are  not  limited  to  the  things  which 
affect  us  directly.  For  the  procedure  of  these  things  depends 
again  on  others  which,  though  in  themselves  alien  to  us,  may 
affect  us  indirectly  through  those  things  which  are  not  alien. 
Our  feelings  may,  therefore,  be  transferred  to  them,  even  though 
it  be  in  a  modified  form.  We  love  the  friends  of  our  friends,  as 
helping  those  who  help  us.  We  love  also  the  enemies  of  our 
enemies,  because  they  tend  to  weaken  that  which  harms  us. 
Conversely,  we  hate  the  enemies  of  our  friends  and  the  friends 
of  our  enemies.  These  indirect  relations  reach  further  and  fur- 
ther till  they  embrace  all  that  is  concerned  with  our  experience, 
all  that  refers  to  it  or  is  in  any  way  an  attendant  circum- 
stance. Everything  that  is  associated  with  agreeable  experi- 
ences or  reminds  us  of  such — however  outward  and  accidental 
the  connection  may  be — occasions  us  pleasure,  as  its  opposite 
gives  us  pain.  In  this  circuitous  way,  even  that  which  is  most 
remote  from  us  can  excite  pleasure  or  pain,  love  or  hate.  The 
sympathies  and  antipathies  which  even  we  ourselves  are  often 
at  a  loss  to  understand  can  easily  be  explained  on  the  ground 
that  the  real  reason  for  our  love  and  hate  is  here  veiled  from  our 
consciousness.  But  these  passions,  notwithstanding,  are  power- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  369 

ful  stimuli  to  action;  we  are  bound  to  promote  what  is  useful  to 
us,  to  suppress  and  destroy  what  harms  us.  All  the  exhortations 
of  the  moralists  abate  not  one  jot  of  this  necessity.  A  passion 
can  only  be  overcome  by  a  yet  stronger  passion,  not  by  mere 
appeals  and  resolutions.  So  the  machinery  of  the  passions  is 
laid  bare,  their  tangled  web  is  unravelled,  and  we  have  revealed 
to  us  a  rich  mine  of  worldly-wise  reflections  upon  human 
nature. 

In  all  this  Spinoza  is  content  with  mere  description;  he 
allows  his  subject-matter  to  unfold  itself  undisturbed  by  any 
obtrusive  valuations  of  his  own.  But  in  our  retrospective  glance 
over  his  system  as  a  whole,  we  cannot  avoid  forming  some  critical 
estimate,  and  we  then  see  clearly  how  unsatisfactory  is  the  posi- 
tion he  assigns  to  man.  For  though  it  is  possible  in  this  machin- 
ery of  life  that  the  individual  should  here  and  there  come  to  the 
front,  yet  in  the  main  he  is  dependent  on  an  alien  and  inscrutable 
world.  We  are  incessantly  tossed  to  and  fro  by  causes  outside 
ourselves,  even  as  the  waves  of  the  sea  are  buffetted  by  opposing 
winds.  Ignorant  of  our  origin  and  our  destiny,  slaves  of  our 
passions,  continually  at  discord  and  strife  with  one  another — 
surely,  taking  all  into  consideration,  we  are  in  a  state  of  misery 
and  bondage.  Is  this  the  final  conclusion,  or  is  there  a  path 
from  bondage  into  freedom? 

(dd)  Man  and  his  Greatness. — Spinoza  in  truth  effects  an  im- 
portant transition,  but  he  has  discovered  the  new  path  rather 
than  explored  it;  he  could  not  have  gone  far  in  it  without  finding 
a  radical  flaw  in  his  system.  He  himself  looks  upon  the  new 
movement  as  a  mere  development  of  the  original  line  of  effort: 
he  regards  it  as  carrying  a  natural  process  to  its  logical  conclu- 
sion, whereas  in  truth  it  effects  a  complete  revolution  and  builds 
up  a  new  world  over  against  nature.  According  to  Spinoza  we 
must  still  aim  at  self-preservation  and  utility,  but  the  utility 
must  be  real  (re  verd)  and  fundamental  (ex  fundamento),  not  the 
utility  of  ordinary  life.  It  must  be  the  utility  which  only  knowl- 
edge can  give,  genuine  scientific  knowledge.  Such  knowledge 


370  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

lights  up  from  within  what  would  otherwise  be  strange  and 
alien,  teaches  us  to  regard  it  in  its  fundamentals,  gives  it  us  as 
our  possession,  and  puts  us  in  a  position  to  act  with  regard  to  it. 
We  no  longer  feel  things  to  be  oppressive  when  we  can  evolve 
them  through  our  own  thinking;  we  are  their  masters,  and  alive 
with  that  full  activity  which  means  blessedness.  But  our  think- 
ing can  have  this  power  only  when  we  look  upon  ourselves  as 
links  in  the  chain  of  the  universe  and  interpret  our  position  in  the 
light  of  the  necessary  and  eternal  order  of  things.  This  process 
does  not  attain  its  completion  till  we  link  everything  to  God,  the 
fundamental  Essence;  and  since  from  this  point  of  view  our 
thought  conceives  all  manifoldness  as  the  unfolding  of  the  In- 
finite Substance,  and  views  it  immediately  sub  specie  aeternitatis, 
our  knowledge  is  no  longer  a  knowledge  dependent  on  logical 
trains  of  reasoning:  it  is  intuitive.  Such  intuitive  knowledge  of 
God  is  incomparably  the  highest  good  and  the  ultimate  goal  of 
all  true  effort.  It  transmutes  our  whole  being  into  speculative 
activity  and  lifts  it  into  full  freedom  and  fruition,  at  the  same 
time  dispelling  all  sorrow.  Even  the  passions  divest  themselves 
of  every  painful  element  and  become  purified  activities  as  soon 
as  we  penetrate  their  meaning  clearly  and  distinctly,  for  we  then 
see  that  their  message  is  not  one  of  painful  renunciation  but  of 
glad  endeavour.  The  whole  life  now  becomes  full  of  force  and 
activity  and  joyous  assertion.  There  grows  up  the  ideal  of  a 
"free  man"  for  whom  all  painful  conditions  are  an  evil.  Sym- 
pathy, humility,  repentance  and  the  like  may  be  useful  on  a 
lower  level  of  life,  but  the  higher  level  knows  naught  of  them; 
here,  we  are  told,  "  he  who  repents  of  a  deed  increases  twofold 
his  unhappiness  and  weakness." 

This  is  a  high  ideal  to  which  we  can  only  approximate  by 
degrees.  But  even  though  it  be  difficult  for  the  true  knowledge 
to  permeate  us  entirely,  yet  it  can  be  sufficiently  clear  and  dis- 
tinct to  act  as  a  cure  for  the  passions.  The  more  we  regard  the 
incidents  of  our  life  in  their  necessary  context,  the  less  will  they 
disturb  us,  the  more  shall  we  dwell  upon  them  in  the  light  of 
thought,  till  the  love  and  the  hate  which  grew  out  of  them  will 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  371 

be  dispelled,  and  the  spirit  be  led  into  the  peace  of  pure  con- 
templation. So  intuition,  free  from  all  will  and  desire,  becomes 
the  great  means  of  emancipation  from  disturbance  and  pain, 
the  great  means  of  ensuring  to  our  whole  nature  a  passage  into 
peace  and  blessedness. 

But  such  an  experience  can  gain  the  coherency  of  a  life  in 
the  Universal,  it  can  become  deeply  spiritual,  only  by  vir- 
tue of  a  connection  with  the  intuitive  knowledge  of  God,  the 
Eternal  and  Infinite  Being.  It  is  this  knowledge  alone  which  is 
the  consummation  of  our  thought  and  life.  Everything  which 
advances  our  well-being,  so  we  saw,  necessarily  awakens  our 
love.  For  God,  then,  we  shall  feel  a  boundless  love.  This  love 
is  far  superior  to  anything  else  which  goes  by  the  name.  It  is  no 
ordinary  love  fraught  with  melancholy  and  passion,  but  rests 
entirely  upon  knowledge;  it  is  "intellectual  love"  (amor  intellec- 
tualis}.  Such  love  to  God  is  genuine  only  when  it  demands  no 
return.  For  God  cannot,  by  His  very  nature,  love  any  particular 
object  in  the  human  sense,  since  this  would  degrade  His  Being 
to  a  lower  level.  Therefore  we  read,  uhe  who  truly  loves  God 
cannot  ask  that  God  should  love  him  in  return."  Without  a 
complete  surrender  of  all  petty  egoism  there  can  be  no  freedom, 
no  exaltation.  It  is  with  intellectual  love  that  God  loves  Him- 
self— i.  e.,  Eternity  and  Infinity  in  their  fulness — and  the  intellec- 
tual love  of  the  spirit  for  God  is  a  part  of  the  infinite  love  where- 
with God  loves  Himself.  The  universe  thus  gains  a  spiritual 
depth  and  an  inner  life,  though  truly  of  a  very  different  kind  from 
the  life  of  the  human  soul. 

This  union  with  God  also  ensures  to  man  an  eternal  life. 
For  immortality  in  the  sense  of  a  mere  continuation  of  our  natu- 
ral existence,  Spinoza  has  no  place.  Only  so  long  as  the  body 
lasts  can  the  mind  form  ideas  and  remember  the  past;  thus  the 
dissolution  of  the  body  marks  the  termination  of  this  individual 
and  dependent  life  of  the  soul.  But  since  the  mind  has  its  source 
in  God,  it  cannot  become  altogether  extinct  when  the  body  per- 
ishes; in  God  there  necessarily  persists  an  Idea  which  expresses 
the  eternal  essence  of  it;  it  is  indestructible  as  being  an  eternal 


372  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

•^ 

thought  of  God.  And  the  certainty  of  its  imperishability  is  in- 
creased in  proportion  as  it  is  transferred,  in  virtue  of  its  true 
insight,  from  the  phenomenal  world  to  the  world  of  the 
Eternal  Substance.  The  stronger  its  imperishable  part,  the 
less  power  has  death  to  touch  it.  Along  this  line  of  thought, 
the  dissolution  of  the  body  is  really  a  stripping  off  of  mortality,  - 
an  emancipation  from  the  lower  form  of  life;  "only  so  long 
as  the  body  lasts,  is  the  mind  liable  to  passions  productive  of 
sorrow." 

For  our  philosopher,  however,  the  importance  of  immortality 
does  not  consist  mainly  in  the  hope  it  holds  out  of  a  better  future, 
but  rather  in  its  power  to  lift  us  directly  above  all  temporal  con- 
ditions and  enable  us  to  lay  hold  of  eternity  within  the  confines 
of  the  present.  It  is  with  this  thought  in  mind  that  he  writes: 
"There  is  nothing  on  which  the  free  man  bestows  less  thought 
than  on  death,  and  his  wisdom  concerns  itself  not  with  death 
but  with  life."  In  order  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  dictates 
of  reason,  we  do  not  need  the  thought  of  immortality  and  retri- 
bution. Even  if  we  did  not  know  that  we  were  immortal,  we 
should  still  consider  virtue  and  piety,  courage  and  generosity  as 
supremely  important,  for  the  man  who  is  truly  free  does  not  act 
for  the  sake  of  reward  but  because  he  is  impelled  to  act  by  a 
necessity  of  his  nature;  it  is  not  the  reward  of  virtue,  but  virtue 
itself  which  is  blessed.  Blessedness  consists  in  the  attainment 
by  the  spirit  of  its  highest  perfection,  which  can  only  be  at- 
tained through  the  knowledge  of  God.  "So  the  wise  man 
can  never  cease  to  be  conscious  of  himself  and  God  and  the 
world;  he  cannot  die,  but  enjoys  forever  the  true  peace  of  the 
spirit." 

The  life  whose  final  note  is  one  of  such  full  and  joyous  con- 
fidence provides  for  both  ethics  and  religion  a  new  basis,  and 
a  characteristic  expression  peculiar  to  itself.  It  may  appear 
strange  that  "  Ethics"  should  be  the  title  chosen  for  his  principal 
work  by  a  thinker  who  has  been  at  such  pains  to  eliminate  all 
ethical  valuations  and  reduce  experience  to  the  status  of  a  purely 
natural  process.  But  with  Spinoza  this  inevitableness  which  is 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  373 

grounded  in  the  Absolute  Being  is,  for  man,  itself  an  ideal;  we 
do  not  move  from  the  outset  in  a  sphere  of  genuine  reality,  but 
have  to  work  our  way  upward  to  it.  Our  life  is  a  battle  between 
surrender  to  the  phenomenal  world  and  ascent  to  the  world  of 
reality,  obstinate  clinging  to  a  petty  individualism  and  willing 
absorption  in  Infinite  Being.  It  is  the  seat  of  a  momentous 
decision,  a  summons  to  concentrate  our  being  in  an  act  of  con- 
version. The  turning  to  the  true  knowledge  is  itself  an  act,  an 
act  of  the  whole  nature.  But  at  the  same  time  it  is  a  moral 
action.  Only,  in  this  case,  morality  is  not  so  much  concerned 
with  this  or  that  particular  performance  as  with  a  new  order  of 
being.  In  direct  contradiction  to  the  doctrine  which  he  con- 
sciously holds,  Spinoza  belongs  to  those  thinkers  who  press  upon 
man  a  great  alternative  and  expect  to  be  saved  rather  by  a  sud- 
den conversion  than  by  gradual  progress.  At  heart  Spinoza  is 
much  nearer  to  Christian  thought  than  is  any  other  philosopher 
of  the  Enlightenment. 

His  fundamental  religious  convictions,  too,  are  far  more  closely 
akin  to  Christianity  than  his  bitter  opposition  to  ecclesiastical 
form  might  lead  us  to  expect.  It  is  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
transparent  sincerity  of  his  nature  that  he  should  be  the  first  to 
bring  out  fully  the  hostility  of  the  liberal,  rational  tendencies  of 
modern  thought  to  the  old  anthropomorphic  views  dependent 
on  history  and  tradition.  For  Spinoza,  God  is  not  one  particular 
Being  among  many,  a  personality  in  man's  sense.  He  embraces 
and  pervades  the  whole  world.  He  does  not  incline  especially 
toward  man,  but  is  active  in  every  corner  of  the  infinite  uni- 
verse. He  does  not  single  out  particular  people  for  a  special 
revelation,  but  reveals  Himself  in  equal  measure  at  all  times 
and  places,  in  the  nature  and  the  reason  which  are  common  to 
us  all.  Religion  has  no  need  of  any  historical  faith.  Spinoza  is 
particularly  hostile  to  any  doctrine  of  the  miraculous.  He  rejects 
the  miracles  not  only  on  account  of  his  scientific  belief  in  the 
uniformity  of  natural  law,  but  because  his  religious  conviction 
makes  him  look  upon  this  uniformity  as  an  expression  of  the 
immutability  of  the  divine  nature.  The  common  people  may, 


374  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

indeed,  oppose  God  to  Nature,  and  see  His  power  manifested 
most  clearly  in  such  extraordinary  events  as  seem  to  contradict 
the  course  of  nature;  but  the  philosopher  finds  the  great  and  the 
divine  in  the  common  round  of  everyday  life,  nor  can  he  admit 
the  validity  of  the  distinction  so  long  invoked  in  defence  of  mira- 
cles between  a  supernatural  and  an  anti-natural.  For  a  super- 
natural within  the  natural  sphere  is  itself  anti-natural,  and  it  is 
within  nature,  not  outside  it,  that  the  material  miracles  are 
asserted  to  have  taken  place.  So  man's  faith  in  miracles  now 
begins  to  be  shaken;  prior  to  the  recognition  of  nature's  essential 
uniformity,  they  did  not  occasion  the  slightest  difficulty;  even 
the  most  radical  thinkers  of  the  Reformation-time  never  so 
much  as  called  them  in  question.  Descartes  had  indeed  recog- 
nized the  principle  of  the  uniformity  of  nature,  but  either  he  did 
not  perceive  its  logical  consequences  or  he  was  too  prudent  to 
give  expression  to  them. 

But,  despite  all  his  divergences  from  its  ecclesiastical  form, 
Spinoza  is  yet  very  close  to  Christianity  in  the  central  doctrine 
of  his  thought — the  doctrine  of  God's  indwelling  in  the  world, 
and  the  living  presence  of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  every  place.  He 
does,  indeed,  find  it  incredible  that  God,  the  eternal  and  infinite 
Being,  should  have  taken  on  our  human  nature,  and  he  does  not 
consider  it  necessary  to  know  Christ  "after  the  flesh,"  i.  e.,  in 
His  historical  Incarnation;  but  "it  is  a  very  different  thing  when 
we  come  to  speak  of  that  Eternal  Son  of  God,  i.  e.,  the  Eternal 
Wisdom  of  God,  Which  has  revealed  Itself  in  all  things,  and 
mostly  in  the  human  spirit,  and  most  of  all  in  Jesus  Christ. 
For  without  it  no  one  can  attain  to  blessedness,  since  it  alone 
teaches  us  what  is  true  and  false,  good  and  evil."  That  the 
human  spirit  should  be  exalted  above  all  other  forms  of  being 
and  Jesus  above  all  other  men,  is  a  presentation  which  stands  in 
curious  and  striking  contradiction  to  the  general  teaching  of  the 
philosopher  which  proclaims  the  impartial  working  of  God 
everywhere  in  the  universe.  But  Spinoza  is  greater  than  his 
theories,  and  his  world  is  too  rich  to  be  contained  within  the 
framework  of  his  ideas.  We  might  even  say  that  nowhere  is  he 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  375 

greater  than  when  he  contradicts  himself,  i.  e.,  when  the  inner 
necessities  of  his  nature  compel  him  to  go  further  than  his  own 
teaching. 

(ee).  Appreciation. — That  Spinoza  produced  a  deep  impression 
and  still  has  power  to  influence  men's  minds  can  be  partly  ex- 
plained by  the  character  of  his  system.  His  thought  has  a  dis- 
tinct trend  toward  the  great  and  essential,  toward  the  simple 
and  genuinely  human.  All  his  work  is  inspired  and  sustained 
by  the  objective  compulsion  of  facts;  so  strong  is  their  hold  on 
the  thinker  that  they  leave  no  room  for  subjective  feeling  and 
reflection;  even  the  mightiest  revolutions  are  all  accomplished 
with  the  tranquillity  characteristic  of  a  natural  process.  But 
this  does  not  imply  any  lack  of  soul  in  the  system;  throughout 
there  is  a  mighty  personality  at  work,  breathing  life  into  the  dry 
bones  of  concepts  and  doctrines.  It  is  true  that  in  the  elabora- 
tion of  these  concepts  Spinoza  employs  the  heavy  armoury  of 
science  and  his  thought  flows  in  connected  sequences  which  are 
sternly  closed  against  all  intrusion.  There  is  nothing  sudden 
and  immediate:  one  stone  is  fitted  securely  to  another.  But 
where  his  work  reaches  its  highest  level,  there  are  illuminating 
glimpses  which  break  through  formal  limitations;  there  are 
intuitions  which  set  the  soul  free;  and  these  are  not  only  the 
best  but  the  most  convincing  parts  of  his  system.  Here  more 
than  anywhere  else  the  philosopher  greets  us  as  a  sage,  a  sage 
who  treads  our  modern  world  and  uses  modern  methods.  But 
the  heroism  required  of  this  sage  was  of  no  distinguished  or 
dazzling  kind:  he  had  merely  to  preserve,  in  a  life  marked  by 
renunciation  and  conflict,  that  repose  and  loftiness  of  spirit 
which  his  scientific  convictions  demanded  of  him.  And  this  he 
did.  An  absolute  harmony  of  life  and  teaching  gives  to  his 
career  that  complete  truthfulness  which  we  admire  in  the  an- 
cients even  as  we  deplore  its  absence  in  so  many  modern  thinkers. 

But  to  honour  Spinoza's  greatness  does  not  imply  a  blind 
adherence  to  his  system.  Often,  indeed,  we  must  win  our  way 
to  what  is  great  in  him  through  many  difficulties  of  interpre- 


3;6  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

tation.  He  shares,  too,  the  failing  of  his  time:  when  he  sees  a 
new  ideal  which  he  believes  to  be  necessary,  he  deems  it  far  too 
easily  and  quickly  attainable.  With  one  stroke  he  thinks  to  cut 
the  Gordian  knots  which  have  been  the  perplexity  of  every  age. 
His  treatment  is  consequently  too  meagre  and  concise;  unfor- 
tunate complications  arise:  priceless  truths  are  found  side  by 
side  with  doubtful  and  even  erroneous  assertions.  But  from 
defects  in  actual  achievement  we  may  turn  to  the  creative  and 
impelling  forces  of  his  spiritual  nature;  and  when  we  sound 
these  depths,  we  shall  recognize  in  Spinoza,  however  keen  our 
criticism  of  his  doctrines,  a  Master  who  is  entitled  to  our  lasting 
veneration. 

Fascinated  by  the  grandeur  and  self-sufficiency  of  his  con- 
ception of  the  world,  Spinoza  seeks  to  eliminate  from  it  every 
element  of  division  and  to  fuse  all  manifoldness  into  one  extremely 
simple  presentation.  God  and  world,  soul  and  body,  thinking 
and  willing,  must  be  wholly  unified  or  even  identified.  Now, 
did  Spinoza's  system  really  reach  a  unity  of  this  kind  ?  A  first 
impression  may  incline  us  to  say,  Yes,  but  this  impression  is  not 
borne  out  by  a  closer  examination.  There  cannot  possibly  be 
a  complete  harmony  or  unity  between  world  and  God,  so  long  as 
individuals  have  no  more  than  the  illusive  appearance  of  inde- 
pendent existence  in  relation  to  the  universal  life.  The  illusion 
however,  according  to  Spinoza,  persists  tenaciously  throughout 
all  the  phases  of  human  life :  we  have  to  exert  our  utmost  force 
of  thought  to  free  ourselves  from  it.  But  whence  comes  its 
power,  if  all  manifoldness  is  really  only  within  the  universal 
life? 

Soul  and  body,  again,  were  simply  to  represent  different  sides 
of  the  same  being;  spiritual  life  and  natural  process  were  to 
run  parallel,  one  equally  important  with  the  other.  But  in  truth 
Spinoza  has  nowhere  succeeded  in  giving  them  this  equality; 
he  has  subordinated  either  spirit  to  nature  or  nature  to  spirit, 
the  former  in  the  original  outlining  of  his  system,  the  latter  in 
its  conclusion.  For,  at  the  outset,  he  makes  nature  the  core  of 
reality.  The  laws  of  her  mechanism  widen  till  they  become 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  377 

universal  laws  dominating  even  the  human  soul.  This  soul  is 
not  the  manifestation  of  a  new  life,  but  merely  a  wakening  to 
consciousness  of  the  material  world,  a  reflex  activity  attendant 
on  natural  process.  There  is  an  unmistakable  tendency  here  to 
naturalism,  even  materialism.  The  later  and  concluding  parts 
of  the  "Ethics"  are  in  a  very  different  strain.  There  we  find 
that  conversion  and  deliverance  can  be  attained  only  when 
thought  reaches  a  level  of  complete  independence  toward  nature 
and  has  a  genuine  existence  of  its  own  in  the  light  of  which 
nature  becomes  a  mere  phenomenal  manifestation  of  the  primal 
cause.  When  life  finds  its  highest  completion  in  the  contem- 
plation of  God,  and  the  very  soul  of  the  world-process  is  the 
Divine  Love,  we  have  a  clear  predominance  of  the  spiritual. 
Thus  the  attempt  at  a  consistent  Monism  breaks  down,  and  we 
are  left  with  two  mutually  hostile  positions. 

Again,  knowledge  and  will  were  to  coalesce,  for  the  act  of 
will  was  completely  included  in  the  process  of  knowledge.  But 
when  knowledge  takes  in  the  whole  life,  it  becomes  more  than 
mere  knowledge.  When  we  understand  by  knowledge  man's 
true  means  of  self-preservation,  something  that  transforms  his 
whole  existence  into  activity,  joy  and  love — then  more  is  involved 
in  it  than  mere  intellectual  activity;  it  serves  to  develop  a  pro- 
founder  life,  and  to  express  a  wholly  self-sufficient  spiritual  ex- 
perience. From  the  attempted  solution  of  the  difficulty  there 
springs  up  immediately  a  new  and  more  arduous  problem. 

Reality  is,  then,  too  complex  to  fit  into  the  simple  framework 
which  Spinoza  provides.  Nor  should  we  seek  to  make  the  world 
appear  more  simple  than  it  really  is.  But,  notwithstanding, 
there  is  excellent  justification  for  Spinoza's  attempt  to  discover 
in  the  world  greater  unity  and  inward  coherence.  This  attempt 
stands  out  in  striking  contrast  to  the  scholastic  procedure  which 
sought  to  solve  its  problems  mainly  by  relating  and  distinguishing 
concepts,  till  its  acuteness  had,  in  the  course  of  centuries,  degen- 
erated into  the  merest  artificiality.  The  dawn  of  a  desire  for 
greater  unity,  the  tendency  for  the  different  aspects  of  reality  to 
come  together  again,  to  reinforce  and  complement  each  other, 


378  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

to  unite  in  forming  one  single,  complete  life — all  this  is  like 
a  return  to  the  truth  of  nature,  an  awakening  from  lethargy  and 
death.  Shall  we  blame  the  philosopher  because  his  solution  of 
the  problem  was  too  hasty,  or  shall  we  rather  rejoice  in  the  last- 
ing impetus  which  his  efforts  gave  to  the  thoughts  of  men  ? 

If  the  world  does  not  admit  of  such  a  simple  adjustment,  then 
neither  can  life  be  so  speedily  transformed  into  pure  contem- 
plation, nor  will  the  transformation  be  able  to  solve  all  the 
problems  of  our  existence.  But  Spinoza,  in  his  desire  for  a  dis- 
passionate knowledge,  is  really  seeking  a  new  basis  of  relation- 
ship between  man  and  reality,  a  reconstitution  of  human  life. 
He  feels  the  traditional  ideals  of  conduct  to  be  unbearably  small 
and  petty,  since,  whatever  the  breadth  they  may  seem  to  have, 
they  do  not  take  man  out  of  himself  and  the  sphere  of  his  own 
ideas,  interests  and  emotions.  To  effect  this,  we  need  to  acquire 
through  genuine  knowledge  a  closer  intimacy  with  the  universe; 
so  Spinoza  embarks  upon  a  vigorous  crusade  against  the  egoism 
not  only  of  individuals  but  of  mankind  as  a  whole. 

His  exertions  inaugurate  a  new  phase  in  the  world's  develop- 
ment, a  phase  of  reaction  against  a  movement  which  reached 
far  back  into  ancient  Christendom  and  had  attained  its  culmi- 
nating point  in  Augustine.  Augustine,  with  his  consuming  thirst 
for  happiness  and  the  natural  bent  of  a  strong  nature  toward 
comprehensive  views  of  the  universe,  had  subordinated  all  the 
expanse  and  richness  of  existence  to  the  salvation  and  bliss  of 
man;  in  so  doing,  he  had  brought  a  note  of  passion  into  every 
domain  of  life,  had  set  all  being  aglow  with  the  fires  of  will  and 
endeavour.  At  bottom  the  conviction  may  still  have  persisted 
that  man  was  created  and  preserved  not  for  his  own  sake,  but  as 
belonging  to  a  higher  grade  of  reality,  as  member  of  a  spiritual 
and  divine  order;  but  Augustine's  own  passionateness  of  dis- 
position had  already  been  responsible  for  the  admission  of  much 
that  was  human  in  the  pettier  sense  of  the  word;  and,  in 
the  course  of  rime,  this  meaner  element  had  tightened  and  con- 
firmed its  hold  upon  human  life.  Our  modern  era  has  from  the 
very  outset  regarded  this  conception  of  human  nature  as  too  sub- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  379 

jective,  as  narrow,  petty  and  untrue;  but  it  was  not  till  Spinoza 
that  its  struggle  for  greater  breadth  and  freedom  found  clear 
expression  and  support.  Spinoza  made  it  clear  that  the  freedom 
was  not  to  be  gained  by  the  stormy,  aggressive  methods  of  the 
Renaissance;  it  was  an  inward  change  that  was  needed,  the 
discovery  and  development  of  a  universal  nature  within  man 
himself.  And  this  universal  nature  Spinoza  claims  to  find  in 
knowledge;  knowledge,  when  allowed  a  free  development,  puts 
man  in  possession  of  the  objective  significance  of  things,  and  so 
fills  him  with  its  infinity  and  eternity  that  all  feeling  of  selfhood 
is  entirely  extinguished.  It  is  knowledge  which  saves  man  from 
the  petty  egoisms  and  cross-purposes  of  our  human  striving, 
and  leads  us  upward  by  a  sure  path  into  the  clearer,  purer  air  of 
reality  and  truth. 

But  if  the  universe,  immeasurable  and  unchangeable  as  it  is,  is 
to  take  such  exclusive  possession  of  our  life,  we  are  at  once 
deprived  not  only  of  all  choice  but  of  all  freedom;  and  the  power 
of  pure  fact,  of  natural  necessity,  of  fate,  acquires  an  over- 
whelming predominance.  Antiquity  had  fully  recognized  this 
power,  but  Christianity  had  undertaken,  as  the  greatest  of  all 
its  tasks,  to  lift  man  from  a  kingdom  of  fate  into  a  realm  of 
freedom.  In  the  history  of  Christendom,  however,  we  find  the 
problem  far  too  lightly  considered;  the  opposition  was  not  so 
much  met  and  overcome  as  lost  sight  of  in  mystic  exaltation. 
Spinoza  enriched  the  conception  of  truth  and  gave  deeper 
meaning  to  life  by  again  insisting  on  the  part  played  by  nature 
or  fate  in  our  human  existence.  It  is  true  that  he  thereby 
inclines  to  place  exclusive  stress  on  nature  as  the  whole  reality 
and  to  consider  the  truth  of  the  material  world  as  external  to  and 
distinct  from  our  spiritual  life,  but  the  new  turn  which  he  gave 
to  thought  is  important  enough  to  outweigh  any  errors  of  detail. 

Moreover,  here,  as  elsewhere,  Spinoza's  real  meaning  goes 
much  deeper  than  his  formal  statement.  It  is  not  nature  merely 
which  he  seeks,  but  something  in  and  behind  nature,  a  sub- 
stantial life  and  being.  According  to  him,  our  ordinary  life  is  far 
too  superficial,  and  prone  to  self-deception  and  illusion.  Our 


380  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

action  can  be  true  only  in  so  far  as  we  put  into  it  our  own  being 
and  individuality.  We  must,  therefore,  reach  down  to  what  is 
genuine  in  our  nature.  And  this  necessitates  a  reversal  of  the 
previous  position,  an  appropriation  of  the  eternal  and  infinite 
universe.  It  is  just  this  which  constitutes  Spinoza's  greatness, 
that  for  him  the  problem  does  not  lie  in  this  or  that  detail  of  hu- 
man life,  but  in  the  whole  of  it,  in  the  man  himself,  and  that 
he  feels  the  necessity  of  outgrowing  all  the  punctiliousness  of  a 
narrowly  personal  outlook,  all  that  commonly  passes  as  happiness 
— in  fact,  all  considerations  of  use  and  purpose. 

Spinoza's  thought  is  profoundly  stimulating  and  suggestive. 
But  it  has  often  to  be  disengaged  from  the  abstruse  form  in 
which  it  is  expressed — a  fact  which  sufficiently  explains  why  his 
greatness  was  fully  appreciated  only  when  he  came  to  be  seen  in 
proper  perspective  and  his  ideas  were  freely  handled  and  dis- 
cussed. Under  such  treatment  it  was  natural  that  his  meaning 
should  be  resolved  into  its  various  implications,  so  that  he  would 
appeal  to  different  people  on  very  different  grounds,  and  the  more 
so  because  in  him  many  different  lines  of  thought  converged, 
tending  toward  unity  but  not  reaching  it  in  any  definite  and 
conclusive  fashion.  So  the  controversies  over  Spinoza  are  likely 
to  continue.  But  he  will  be  ever  revered  as  great  by  all  who  de- 
mand from  philosophy  not  so  much  a  closed  system  of  concepts 
and  doctrines  as  a  fuller  grasp  of  what  is  real  in  human  nature 
and  a  fresher  insight  into  the  underlying  mysteries  of  life. 

(7)  LOCKE 

Locke's  work  (1632-1704)  was  carried  on  in  an  essentially 
different  environment  from  that  of  the  other  leaders  of  the 
Enlightenment.  He  was  one  of  a  nation  engaged  in  struggle  for 
civil  and  religious  liberty,  a  struggle  in  which  he  himself  bore 
a  decided  part  and  which  directly  affected  his  personal  fortunes. 
His  thinking  bears  upon  it  the  strong  impress  of  a  society  whose 
distinctive  genius  he  himself  did  much  to  strengthen  and  accen- 
tuate. 

Locke  is  by  no  means  a  complete  exponent  of  the  English 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  381 

spirit — in  every  great  civilised  nation  there  are  reactionary 
forces  running  counter  to  its  average  type — still  he  undoubtedly 
represents  the  prevailing  national  tendency.  The  English 
school  is  averse  to  all  bold  speculation,  and  to  any  attempt  to 
build  up  a  new  world.  It  frankly  accepts  the  world  as  it  finds 
it,  seeks  in  a  practical  way  to  understand  it,  and  to  make  life 
reasonable  and  happy  without  ever  going  beyond  it.  Attention 
is  mainly  concentrated  upon  man  and  his  lot;  the  English  poet 
(Pope)  is  but  expressing  the  popular  conviction  when  he  desig- 
nates man  as  the  proper  study  of  mankind.  The  individual  is 
regarded  both  as  he  is  in  himself  and  in  his  social  relations,  and 
the  attempt  is  made  to  render  both  soul  and  society  intelligible 
by  reconstructing  them  from  their  simplest  beginnings.  It  is 
this  which  constitutes  the  peculiar  merit  of  the  English  Enlight- 
enment. The  keener  scrutiny  and  more  accurate  review  of 
experience  tend  in  the  direction  of  excluding  whatever  has  no 
sure  hold  in  fact.  Theory  is  closely  linked  with  practice:  the 
clearer  light  thrown  upon  what  we  really  have  and  are  necessitates 
a  corresponding  refashioning  of  life.  All  this  may  indeed  limit 
the  sphere  of  human  life  and  endeavour,  but  at  the  same  time, 
it  shows  that  within  these  limits  are  possibilities  hitherto  un- 
dreamt of:  the  content  of  experience  is  rich  enough  hi  itself  to 
satisfy  every  reasonable  wish.  Hence  arises  a  characteristic 
mode  of  thought  and  conduct  which  works  its  way  into  the  dif- 
ferent departments  of  life  and  makes  itself  a  social  force.  It  is  as 
developed  in  England  that  the  Enlightenment  has  become  a 
world-power,  and  its  later  phases  cannot  be  understood  apart 
from  the  history  of  this  English  movement. 

Now  Locke  is  the  clearest  and  most  effective  exponent  of 
the  English  type  of  thought.  His  chief  concern  is  with  the 
problem  of  knowledge.  A  philosophical  discussion  leaves  him 
with  a  keen  sense  of  the  dire  confusion  of  our  present  state  of 
knowledge,  and  this  conviction  impels  him  to  undertake  a  thor- 
ough investigation  of  its  origin,  validity  and  scope.  The  result 
of  this  investigation  constitutes  the  first  systematic  attempt  to 
depict  the  growth  of  knowledge  in  the  mind  of  the  individual. 


382  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

For  an  inquiry  into  the  sources  of  knowledge  means  for  Locke 
the  tracing  of  its  origin  and  growth  in  the  mind :  and  the  mind 
means  nothing  more  than  consciousness — conscious  life.  This 
conception  of  the  problem — and  it  never  even  occurs  to  Locke 
that  any  other  is  possible — determines  at  once  the  character 
and  outcome  of  the  work.  We  are  concerned  with  seeking  out 
in  consciousness  the  simplest  elements  of  knowledge  and  tracing 
their  gradual  growth  step  by  step  till  the  whole  structure  be- 
comes perfectly  intelligible  and  at  the  same  time  the  limits  of 
our  human  faculties  are  clearly  marked  out.  It  is  obvious  that 
consciousness  does  not  bring  its  content  with  it  ready-made,  but 
only  obtains  it  through  contact  with  things;  so  there  is  an  end 
to  the  doctrine  of  a  fixed  original  endowment  of  the  reason,  the 
doctrine  of  innate  ideas.  Experience  is  the  sole  source  of 
knowledge,  experience  obtained  through  the  observation  either 
of  external  objects  or  of  our  own  inner  states.  The  mind  is  like 
a  blank  sheet  of  paper  which  has  yet  to  be  filled  in,  or  like  a  dark 
room  into  which  light  comes  through  the  windows  of  the  senses. 
The  irreducible  elements  are  the  simple  ideas:  it  is  through 
their  combinations  and  interrelations  that  the  more  complex 
mental  structures  are  gradually  built  up.  No  knowledge  is  so 
complex  as  not  to  be  explicable  along  these  lines.  Nothing  must 
be  admitted  that  cannot  claim  a  place  in  this  scheme:  all  that 
oversteps  the  limits  assigned  by  such  a  conception  of  the  prob- 
lem must  be  set  aside  as  illusion.  Whether  Locke  carried  out 
his  fundamental  principle  with  perfect  consistency,  whether  a 
knowledge  of  truth  can  be  attained  at  all  along  these  lines,  is  in- 
deed a  doubtful  matter;  but  even  he  who  denies  it  is  bound  to 
admit  the  fact  that  this  empirico-psychological  treatment  opens 
up  a  new  and  most  fruitful  view  of  the  life  of  the  soul  and  of 
human  existence  generally.  To  trace  the  actual  development  of 
the  soul  gives  us  a  more  intelligent  view  of  our  existence  and  a 
clearer  notion  of  our  powers.  The  problems  of  our  life  yield 
themselves  far  more  readily  to  a  practical  and  even  to  a  technical 
form  of  treatment.  Man  wins  power  over  himself  and  his 
environment. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  383 

That  knowledge  of  this  kind  cannot  pierce  to  the  real  essence 
of  things  is  Locke's  settled  conviction.  What  things  are,  as  dis- 
tinct from  what  they  seem  to  be,  remains  sealed  from  us  forever. 
But  there  is  no  need  to  mourn  this  limitation,  since  the  knowledge 
we  have  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  main  ends  of  our  life  which  are 
practical  and  moral.  We  do  not  need  to  know  all  things,  but 
only  those  which  concern  our  conduct:  "morality  is  the  proper 
science  and  business  of  mankind  in  general."  It  would  be 
foolish  to  despise  the  candle-light  offered  us  and  to  demand 
bright  sunshine  when  the  candle  gives  us  all  the  light  we  need. 

But  here  we  come  upon  a  contradiction.  According  to 
Locke's  fundamental  principles,  life  is  to  draw  its  whole  content 
from  experience;  but  in  developing  this  point  of  view  he  intro- 
duces the  reason,  and  this  reason,  which  is  conceived  as  inde- 
pendent of  experience  and  exalted  above  it,  increasingly  tends  to 
become  the  dominant  factor.  At  the  outset  the  supreme  goal 
and  the  end  of  all  endeavour  is  taken  to  be  happiness  in  the 
sense  of  subjective  well-being,  and  the  value  of  an  experience  is 
measured  by  the  happiness  it  brings  with  it:  "things  are  good  or 
evil  only  in  reference  to  pleasure  and  pain."  This  was  bound  to 
lead  to  Epicureanism  in  one  form  or  another.  But  at  the  same 
time  Locke  presents  man  as  a  reasonable  being,  with  an  inde- 
pendent inward  life,  and  therefore  with  new  problems  and  new 
standards.  His  real  greatness  is  his  faculty  of  resisting  all  merely 
natural  inclinations  at  the  call  of  the  reason.  "The  great  prin- 
ciple and  foundation  of  all  virtue  and  worth  is  placed  in  this,  that 
a  man  is  able  to  deny  himself  his  own  desires,  cross  his  own 
inclinations,  and  purely  follow  what  reason  directs  as  best." 
Were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the  English  thinkers  generally  have 
supplemented  experience  by  reason  in  some  such  fashion  as  this, 
they  could  hardly  have  been  so  effective  as  they  were. 

Locke's  views  on  human  life,  however,  find  clearer  embodi- 
ment in  his  sociology  than  in  his  detached  utterances  on  ethics. 
But  here,  too,  only  small  treatises  are  available,  and  there  is  no 
attempt  at  systematic  elaboration.  Still  one  characteristic  fun- 
damental conviction  runs  through  all  the  variety  of  his  thought, 


384  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

and  it  is  this  conviction  which  underlies  the  whole  theory  and 
philosophy  of  modern  Liberalism. 

In  tracing  the  development  of  the  political  and  social  com- 
munity Locke  starts  from  the  individual  as  being  the  element 
immediately  given  and  most  clearly  apprehensible.  It  is  only 
by  thus  starting  from  the  individual  and  continually  referring 
back  to  the  individual  that  he  can  clearly  define  society  and 
give  it  a  reasonable  meaning.  The  rooted  idea  of  the  State  as 
prior  to  the  individuals  whom  it  embraces  and  welds  together  is 
rejected  as  confused  and  misleading.  But  the  individual  who 
now  is  to  be  responsible  for  society  and  to  dominate  it  is  not 
the  mere  natural  man  protrayed  by  Hobbes,  but  a  reasonable 
personality;  and  the  characteristic  of  the  reason  is  its  power  of 
deliberation,  decision  and  self-direction.  This  implies  a  com- 
plete revulsion  from  the  idea  which  the  ancients  held  concerning 
the  reason.  For  they  made  reason  to  consist  in  the  power  of 
forming  general  ideas  and  acting  according  to  them.  The 
replacing  of  this  conception  by  a  conception  of  independence 
and  the  power  of  personal  choice  reveals  the  spirit  of  a  new 
world.  Even  law  is  a  support  to  freedom,  despite  its  restraints. 
For  that  alone  is  to  be  recognised  as  law  which  has  been  deter- 
mined by  the  power  that  makes  the  laws,  and  this  power  is,  in 
last  resort,  the  will  of  individuals.  So  the  restraint  is  self-im- 
posed, not  enforced  from  without. 

In  this  building  up  of  society  from  the  individual  we  see  very 
clearly  the  development  of  the  modern  conception  of  society  as 
a  free  association;  even  the  State  is  nothing  more  than  a  kind 
of  society  with  definite  aims  and  sharply-defined  boundaries. 
The  main  task  of  the  State  is  to  safeguard  the  rights  of  its  indi- 
vidual members  and  secure  their  freedom  against  all  interfer- 
ence from  without.  Now  since  the  independence  of  the  citizen 
is  more  particularly  bound  up  with  the  question  of  property, 
Locke  considers  that  the  function  of  the  State  is  simply  to  safe- 
guard property.  This  seems  a  great  fall  from  the  old  conception, 
and  it  paves  the  way  for  that  self-seeking  of  the  propertied  classes 
into  which  the  later  Liberalism  has  often  degenerated.  But  we 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  385 

must  not  forget  that  in  the  old  Liberalism  there  was  always, 
behind  this  question  of  property,  the  independent  man  of  action 
to  whom  property  was  but  the  means  of  self-realisation.  This 
gives  the  whole  movement  an  idealistic  turn,  and  supplies  a  mo- 
tive for  incessant  social  activity.  It  is  a  great  gain  for  the  force- 
fulness  and  sincerity  of  life  when  the  functions  of  the  State  are 
confined  within  narrow  limits  and  as  much  liberty  as  possible 
is  conceded  to  the  individual.  The  national  type  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  gives  us  the  complete  development  of  the  State  as  the 
Enlightenment  conceived  it — a  State  founded  on  justice  and 
individual  freedom,  as  opposed  to  the  State  of  the  Renaissance 
founded  on  authority  and  tradition. 

But  if  a  State  is  to  be  founded  on  justice  and  freedom,  it  must 
begin  by  clearing  its  path  from  the  obstructions  offered  by  exist- 
ing conditions;  and  here  political  theory  conies  to  its  aid  with 
a  close  and  penetrating  analysis  of  the  traditional  order.  It 
refuses  to  bow  in  blind  obeisance  to  things  as  they  are.  It  does 
not  acknowledge  authority  gwZfauthority,  but  insists  that  it  shall 
be  founded  on  reason.  Only  that  which  has  justified  itself  to 
the  reason  and  at  the  same  time  won  man's  free  assent  can  exer- 
cise an  inward  control  over  his  nature.  Now  the  only  justification 
for  authority  is  its  actual  serviceableness :  the  place  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  the  community  is  to  be  decided  by  the  degree  of  his 
usefulness.  There  can  be  no  authority,  then,  apart  from  rea- 
son, much  less  in  opposition  to  it.  Even  paternal  authority  does 
not  arise  out  of  some  mystic  ordinance  of  nature,  but  is  justified 
by  the  actual  care  of  the  father  for  his  as  yet  irresponsible  child. 
With  this  view  a  patriarchal  system  of  government  or  a  king- 
dom by  the  grace  of  God  is  wholly  incompatible.  The  kingly 
office  must  justify  itself  by  its  services  to  the  community.  Prop- 
erty too  must  not  be  held  arbitrarily;  it  is  the  reward  of  work. 
He  who  first  claims  something  and  expends  his  energy  upon  it 
has  a  right  to  hold  it  as  his  own.  The  economical  value  of 
things  is  also  to  be  measured  by  the  amount  of  work  they  exact; 
in  proportion  as  civilisation  advances,  emphasis  comes  to  be 
laid  not  so  much  on  mere  material  as  on  the  form  given  to  it  by 


386  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

human  labour.  Locke  has  here  provided  a  philosophical  basis 
for  the  modern  movement  in  the  direction  of  the  technical  and 
industrial  arts. 

A  strict  adherence  to  this  demand  for  reason,  a  development  of 
all  political  and  social  relations  from  the  starting  point  of  the 
individual,  and  the  insistence  upon  service — i.  e.,  tangible  and 
effective  service — as  the  only  true  ground  of  individual  prefer- 
ment would  naturally  bring  the  ideal  State  of  Reason  and  Justice 
into  harsh  collision  with  the  State  of  History  and  Tradition. 
The  total  elimination  of  every  historical  element,  all  tradition, 
hereditary  title  and  so  forth,  would  inevitably  bring  about  a 
revolution.  But  Locke  is  far  removed  from  any  such  rigorous 
consistency.  The  fundamental  framework  of  society  he  tacitly 
accepts  as  reasonable;  but  in  its  detail  finds  much  that  is  defec- 
tive and  doomed  to  decay.  Reason  and  history  are  not  yet 
entirely  dissociated  as  in  a  later  phase  of  the  Enlightenment;  it 
is  not  revolution  which  is  called  for,  but  reform. 

Moreover,  in  establishing  the  independence  of  the  individual, 
Locke  does  not  mean  to  isolate  him.  It  is  only  in  union  with 
other  individuals,  only  as  a  member  of  society,  that  he  can  de- 
velop his  reason  and  attain  to  happiness.  Locke  indeed  recog- 
nises the  power  of  social  environment  as  it  had  never  been  recog- 
nised before.  In  addition  to  the  law  of  God  and  the  law  of  the 
State,  he  admits  a  third  power,  the  law  of  public  opinion,  which 
he  regards  as  a  sure  expression  of  reason.  In  our  moral  educa- 
tion, also,  the  judgment  of  our  fellowmen,  their  approval  and 
disapproval,  is  a  most  important  factor;  the  arousing  of  a  right 
sense  of  honour  is  the  chief  means  of  educating  our  moral  char- 
acter. "Reputation  comes  next  to  virtue."  So  the  sense  of 
political  freedom — and  this  is  characteristic  of  English  life  gen- 
erally— is  balanced  by  an  equally  strong  sense  of  social  obliga- 
tion. The  social  constraint  may  not  be  so  apparent,  but  its  in- 
fluence perhaps  reaches  even  further  and  deeper. 

It  is  in  the  province  of  education  that  Locke  has  rendered 
greatest  service.  Ratichius  and  Comenius  before  him  had 
striven  to  establish  a  rational  method  of  instruction.  But  the 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  387 

new  leaven  had  hitherto  been  working  within  the  old  material, 
whereas  with  Locke  it  is  brought  directly  to  bear  upon  the  facts 
of  the  living  present.  It  is  true  that  he  gets  no  further  than 
general  outlines,  and  does  not  carry  his  principles  to  their  ulti- 
mate consequences.  But  he  initiated  a  movement  which  only 
needed  to  be  taken  up  and  carried  further,  to  issue  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  Rousseau. 

The  phase  of  the  Enlightenment  represented  by  Locke  has  a 
unique  and  distinctive  character.  It  does  not  concern  itself  with 
the  fundamental  relation  of  man  to  reality,  but  disposes  of  this 
problem  by  accepting  immediate  impressions  as  true,  and  devot- 
ing itself  to  the  fashioning  of  a  life-scheme  within  a  world  already 
given.  Locke's  tendency  to  seek  out  the  simplest  elements  or 
powers,  and  to  derive  thence  the  complex  fabric  of  acts  and 
events,  naturally  leads  us  to  expect  a  complete  dependence  of 
life  upon  reason.  We  may  take  it  that  these  powers  do  indeed 
tend  to  make  life  reasonable.  Still  to  suppose  that  they  can 
supply  an  adequate  rationale  of  experience  is  to  be  indeed  opti- 
mistic and  to  ignore  all  the  more  perplexing  problems  of  the 
mental  life.  The  view,  moreover,  lacks  inward  coherency.  Its 
chief  characteristic  is  that  it  makes  all  salvation  depend  upon 
the  illuminating  work  of  thought,  but  thought  is  not  alone  in  the 
field;  thought  is  constantly  being  supplemented,  limited  and 
modified  by  the  constitution  of  our  social  life.  If  logical  con- 
sistency demands  a  break  with  this  constitution  and  a  complete 
reversion  of  social  arrangements,  then  logic  must  give  way. 
Immediacy  of  impression  and  a  practical  knowledge  of  men 
soften  down  all  angularities  of  abstract  ideas.  Moreover,  in 
Locke's  views  there  is  a  dualism  not  merely  of  method  but  of 
content.  The  whole  content  of  life  is  to  be  drawn  from  its  imme- 
diate environment,  i.  e.,  experience;  but  all  unobserved,  just  at 
the  most  critical  points,  a  reason  above  experience  is  invoked, 
without  any  attempt  being  made  to  justify  it,  or  to  distinguish  it 
from  experience.  Thus  an  empirical  and  a  rational,  a  realistic 
and  an  idealistic  standpoint  are  constantly  coming  together; 
sometimes  the  one  predominates,  sometimes  the  other.  The 


388  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

authority  he  allows  to  mere  impressions  which  have  not  been 
subjected  to  the  clarifying  processes  of  science  makes  Locke  as 
a  philosopher  far  more  popular  than  any  other  important  thinker, 
and,  indeed,  threatens  to  confuse  the  philosophical  with  the  com- 
mon-sense standpoint  of  every-day  life.  Thought  and  life  are 
here  set  on  a  plane  of  mediocrity,  which,  compared  with  lower 
levels,  is  estimable  enough,  and  suited  well  the  requirements  of 
the  time.  The  common-sense  treatment  becomes  a  source  of 
danger  and  detriment  only  when  its  limitations  are  looked  upon 
as  final,  and  further  exertions  are  discouraged  through  the  treat- 
ing of  very  doubtful  solutions  as  obvious  and  inevitable.  No  one, 
however,  can  fail  to  appreciate  Locke's  rich  suggestiveness,  or 
the  seriousness,  truth  and  sincerity  which  breathe  in  every  page 
of  his  writings. 

(8).  LEIBNIZ 

(aa).  The  Distinctive  Character  oj  his  Thought. — The  Enlight- 
enment first  makes  its  appearance  in  Germany  with  Leibniz 
(1646-1716),  and  at  once  assumes  a  very  remarkable  form. 
Astonishing  breadth  and  universality — tenacious  of  everything, 
disdainful  of  nothing — a  strong  tendency  to  systematize  and  to 
stand  by  any  idea  once  accepted,  however  much  the  immediate 
aspect  of  things  might  seem  to  be  against  it,  a  method  which 
starts  from  the  soul's  inner  life  and  seeks  to  explain  everything 
from  this  standpoint — all  this  indicates  a  bold  flight  of  creative 
spiritual  activity  and  a  radical  transformation  of  the  world  as 
immediately  given  to  us.  At  the  same  time  a  movement  of  this 
kind  has  dangers  from  which  its  predecessors  were  exempt:  the 
danger  of  weighting  itself  with  useless  ballast  and  desiring  to 
reconcile  what  is  essentially  irreconcilable;  the  danger  of  over- 
looking the  immediacies  of  experience  and  of  wandering  in  the 
trackless  regions  beyond;  the  danger,  in  short,  of  a  self-opin- 
ionated, self-tormenting  subjectivity.  Where,  however,  these 
dangers  are  successfully  met,  we  have  creative  work  of  the  very 
highest  order,  which  has  lifted  man's  thought  and  endeavour  to 
a  sensibly  higher  level. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  389 

Nowhere  else  in  the  Enlightenment  do  we  find  such  breadth 
as  in  Leibniz.  No  other  thinker  lays  such  firm  hold  on  the  in- 
ward nature  of  things  and  strives  so  hard  after  systematic  thor- 
oughness. In  him  the  Enlightenment  lays  aside  all  the  narrow- 
ness of  mere  opposition,  nay,  more,  seeks  to  comprehend  all 
oppositions  and  all  manifoldness  within  itself;  it  would  fain  be  just 
to  the  traditional  scheme  of  life  and  fit  old  and  new  into  a  single 
world  of  thought.  There  are  great  dangers,  no  doubt,  in  such 
a  course.  Instead  of  reconciliation  we  may  have  mere  compro- 
mise. A  desire  for  uniformity  may  all  too  easily  dull  the  edge  of 
what  is  characteristic  or  distinctive;  and,  in  the  endeavour  to 
be  just  to  all  other  types,  the  thinker  may  easily  be  unjust  to  his 
own.  Moreover,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  there  was  something 
of  the  courtier  in  Leibniz,  the  desire  to  avoid  giving  offence  and 
to  put  things  in  the  most  conciliatory,  comfortable  and  pleasant 
way  possible.  But  at  the  same  time  we  must  admit  that  his 
attempts  at  peacemaking  not  only  evince  a  lofty  conception  of 
the  problem  and  a  complete  superiority  to  all  the  narrowness  of 
mere  party  views,  but  also  that  they  were  prompted  by  an  im- 
perative necessity  of  his  nature.  The  two  worlds  which  he 
wished  to  reconcile  were  each  part  of  his  own  life.  On  the  one 
hand,  he  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  new  movement  in  mathe- 
matics and  the  natural  sciences  which  stirred  his  creative  genius 
into  fruitful  activity;  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  a  sincere  and 
native  affection  for  the  traditional  forms  of  morality  and  religion, 
as  only  those  can  deny  who  fail  to  pierce  to  the  ultimate  mo- 
tives of  his  work.  The  problem  he  propounded  was  in  no  sense 
artificially  devised;  it  was  forced  upon  him  for  his  spiritual  self- 
preservation — that  the  unity  of  his  nature  might  be  safeguarded. 
Whatever  our  doubts  as  to  the  plan  and  method  of  his  under- 
taking, we  are  bound  to  hold  his  personal  truth  and  honesty  in 
the  very  highest  esteem. 

There  is  another  consideration  which  also  leads  us  to  exempt 
Leibniz  from  the  charge  of  weakness  usually  characteristic  of 
these  obsequious  compromises;  his  natural  sentiment  is  allied 
with  a  thoroughly  characteristic  technical  mode  of  thought 


390  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

which  paves  the  way  for  a  very  original  handling  of  his  subject- 
matter.  The  key  to  this  characteristic  mode  of  thought  is  found 
in  mathematics,  or  rather  in  the  mathematical  way  of  thinking. 
Mathematics  had  always  played  an  important  part  in  the  En- 
lightenment, influencing  both  its  abstract  thought  and  also  its 
general  attitude  toward  life.  But  it  is  in  Leibniz  that  we  first 
realise  the  full  extent  of  its  influence.  It  was  mathematics  which 
had  at  the  outset  been  the  essential  factor  in  determining  the 
peculiar  direction  of  the  Enlightenment  and  supporting  one  of 
its  most  cardinal  contentions;  for,  in  the  case  of  mathematics, 
it  seemed  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  we  possess  a  knowledge 
which  is  innate,  a  store  of  eternal  and  universal  truths  within 
the  soul.  Nor  are  these  merely  isolated  truths.  The  mind 
shows  itself  able  to  produce  from  its  own  resources  a  coherent 
system  of  thought.  In  the  building  up  of  this  system  a  method 
is  adopted  of  a  very  different  kind  from  that  of  the  scholastic 
logic.  It  is  not  content  to  be  forever  working  upon  a  given 
material,  but  is  constantly  seeking  to  expand  its  material  and 
promising  ever  new  glimpses  into  the  truth.  In  mathematical 
creation  thought  manifests  itself  as  incontestably  a  productive 
power.  The  world  of  thought  within  us  does  not  constitute 
a  separate  domain  from  the  world  outside.  Rather  the  truths 
of  mathematics  are  at  the  same  time  the  fundamental  laws  of 
nature.  Mathematics  brings  spiritual  activity  into  close  union 
with  the  outside  world,  and  gives  to  thought  the  proud  con- 
sciousness of  carrying  within  itself  the  key  to  the  universe,  of 
apprehending  directly  in  its  own  life  the  life  of  the  great  whole. 
This  attitude  of  assertion  involves  negation  in  two  directions: 
on  the  one  hand,  it  is  opposed  to  all  blind  subjection  to  tradition 
and  authority;  on  the  other  hand,  by  teaching  us  to  see  things 
according  to  certain  forms  of  thought,  it  strikes  at  the  very  roots 
of  naturalism  and  materialism.  Mathematics,  more  than  any 
other  agent,  has  taught  reason  to  stand  on  her  own  feet  and 
rejoice  in  the  consciousness  of  her  power. 

Such  views  as  these  were  peculiarly  congenial  to  Leibniz, 
and  he  developed  them  in  a  characteristic  way.    We  must  bear 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  391 

in  mind  that  he  was  a  mathematician  before  he  became  a  philos- 
opher, and  especially  that  the  discovery  of  the  differential  cal- 
culus preceded  the  formation  of  his  philosophical  system.  To 
the  systematisation  of  his  philosophical  convictions  he  brought 
a  mind  saturated  and  possessed  with  ideas  such  as  that  of  the 
infinitesimal,  the  potential,  the  continuous.  He  felt  himself 
impelled  to  refine  upon  the  previous  views  of  the  universe,  to 
substitute  flux  and  change  for  rigid  inflexibility.  Facts  as  we 
see  them  are  not  the  whole.  Away  behind  them  lies  the  realm 
of  possibility,  of  germinating  force.  Only  through  possibility 
and  the  conjunction  of  possibilities  does  the  nature  of  actual 
fact  become  intelligible.  Our  conception  of  reality  must  be 
widened  to  include  possibility — an  expansion  of  a  most  vital  and 
far-reaching  kind.  This  recognition  of  possibility  seems  to  lift 
from  man  a  dead  weight  and  immeasurably  to  extend  the  scope 
of  his  free  initiative.  There  is  also  the  discovery  of  the  infini- 
tesimal, a  discovery  that  Leibniz  is  particularly  proud  of.  It  is 
true  that  he  is  here  taking  up  a  line  suggested  by  the  whole 
trend  of  modern  science,  but  he  goes  a  great  deal  further  than 
any  one  else,  lifting  the  conception  of  the  infinitesimal  out  of  the 
realm  of  experience  into  that  of  metaphysics,  and  from  the 
heights  thus  reached  prescribing  for  experience  the  ends  it 
should  endeavour  to  realise.  Still — through  the  newly  opened-up 
world  of  the  microscope  and  especially  through  the  discoveries 
of  Leeuwenhoek — it  seems  to  him  that  even  experience  is  seen 
to  confirm,  as  far  as  it  can  do,  the  hypothesis  of  the  infinitely 
small;  so  he  boldly  denies  that  there  is  any  point  at  which 
matter  ceases  to  be  either  divisible  or  organised.  Behind  every 
atom  there  is  another  and  yet  another,  just  as  a  harlequin  takes 
off  one  dress  only  to  reveal  another  beneath.  Why  should  the 
limits  of  our  perception  be  also  the  limits  of  nature  ?  Moreover, 
closely  allied  to  this  conception  of  the  infinitesimal,  is  that  of  an 
all-pervading  variety.  Nowhere  does  nature  repeat  herself; 
nowhere  are  two  things  or  two  occurrences  exactly  alike.  It  is 
only  a  shallow,  superficial  view  that  thinks  to  detect  complete 
likeness;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  supposed  likeness  is  only  adif- 


392  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ference  of  a  less  obvious  kind,  which,  even  at  the  limit,  is  still 
a  vanishing  and  not  a  vanished  quantity. 

And  just  as  here  an  apparent  opposition  is  resolved  into  a 
difference  of  degree,  so,  generally  speaking,  Leibniz's  mathe- 
matically disposed  mind  is  always  endeavouring  to  change  sup- 
posed oppositions  into  gradations,  and  for  differences  of  kind  to 
substitute  differences  of  degree.  Kepler  had  already  made  this 
point  of  view  familiar,  and  now,  through  the  concept  of  the 
infinitesimal,  or  infinitely  little,  it  could  at  last  be  thoroughly 
and  systematically  worked  out.  Even  the  apparently  irrecon- 
cilable admits  of  reconciliation  by  this  method.  For  example, 
rest  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  vanishing  phase  of  a  movement 
that  has  been  continually  growing  less  and  less;  the  oppositions 
of  good  and  evil,  of  true  and  false,  are  similarly  handled.  All 
rigidity  and  exclusiveness  is  banished  from  this  world  of  thought; 
everything  is  brought  into  solution,  and  all  opposing  tendencies 
are  completely  reconciled.  The  idea  of  a  continuity  of  all  being 
and  all  life  becomes  vivid  and  impressive  as  never  before,  so 
that  Leibniz  has  good  reason  to  regard  the  Law  of  Continuity 
as  his  own  especial  contribution  to  philosophy.  The  attempt, 
again,  to  reconcile  the  natural  and  the  spiritual  admits  of  being 
viewed  in  quite  a  new  light.  For  must  not  a  closer  examination 
show  that  here,  too,  there  is  a  continuous  gradation,  an  inclusion 
of  both  nature  and  spirit  in  a  single  universal  life,  an  intimate 
relation  between  terms  which  at  first  sight  seem  mutually  exclu- 
sive ?  It  is  indeed  a  bold  thought,  but  a  great  one.  Whether  it 
can  make  good  its  claim  and  avoid  splitting  upon  the  rock  of  an 
either — or,  underlying  our  whole  existence,  is  another  question. 
Leibniz's  arguments  impress  us  by  their  marvellous  skill  and 
dexterity,  but  we  do  not  always  find  them  convincing.  His  general 
tendency,  however,  toward  more  finely  graded  and  less  rigid  dis- 
tinctions is  far  more  important  than  any  special  way  he  may  have 
of  applying  it.  It  belongs  essentially  to  the  movement  of  our 
modern  world,  in  which  he  is  one  of  the  most  influential  thinkers, 

(bb)  Cosmology. — Leibniz's  cosmology  has  points  of  connec- 
tion with  Descartes's,  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  rest  sat- 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  393 

isfied  with  Descartes's  solution.  There  were  two  reasons  why 
he  should  find  it  unsatisfactory:  firstly,  his  own  impulse  was  to 
seek  a  union  beyond  the  separation  of  world  and  soul;  secondly, 
in  both  these  domains  Descartes's  conceptions  seemed  to  him 
crude  and  rough-hewn.  Accustomed  as  he  was  by  his  mathe- 
matical training  to  contemplate  the  world  intellectually,  matter 
had  already  lost  for  him  its  sensual,  tangible  reality.  The  phil- 
osopher of  movement  and  of  the  infinitesimal  found  himself 
compelled  to  pursue  his  research  even  beyond  those  small  bodies 
into  which  mechanics  had  resolved  the  universe.  These  bodies 
themselves  must  be  subjected  to  further  analysis  and  shown  to 
contain  a  nucleus  of  independent  life.  So  he  presses  beyond 
the  physical  elements  to  the  metaphysical — to  living  unities  or 
"monads."  There  can  be  no  being  which  does  not  possess  an 
"immanent"  activity,  a  being-for-itself.  Inward  force,  spiritual 
essence,  is  the  fundamental  constituent  of  all  reality.  There 
are  not  two  worlds,  the  one  seen,  the  other  unseen,  but  the  so- 
called  natural  world  is  but  a  "well-founded  phenomenon."  It 
is  a  projection  of  the  unseen  for  the  benefit  of  us  finite  spirits, 
who  cannot  grasp  reality  as  a  coherent  whole  by  a  purely  spir- 
itual intuition.  An  Absolute  Intelligence  would  not  have  any 
external  world.  This  view  regards  the  body  as  an  aggregate  of 
souls,  that  which  is  usually  termed  the  soul  being  merely  the 
central  monad.  This  opens  up  a  new  solution  of  the  problem 
of  soul  and  body,  spiritual  and  natural  existence;  they  are  not 
put  side  by  side  upon  an  equal  plane,  but  are  related  rather  as 
essence  and  appearance.  In  the  more  detailed  development  of 
his  doctrine  Leibniz  deviates  considerably  from  this  idea,  and 
often  allows  the  material  world  more  reality  than  it  can  con- 
sistently claim.  But  this  does  not  detract  from  the  originality 
of  his  system.  Nature  in  her  own  domain  suffers  no  disturb- 
ance, no  interference;  but  the  whole  of  this  natural  domain 
is  itself  only  the  phenomenal  aspect  of  an  underlying  reality. 
All  the  mechanism  of  nature  is  purely  in  the  service  of 
spirit.  This  conception  of  the  world  will  never  become  popu- 
lar: it  goes  too  directly  in  the  teeth  of  our  immediate  impres- 


394  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

sions.  But  for  the  intellectual  few,  it  has  ever  had  a  profound 
attraction. 

In  a  world  so  conceived,  the  conception  of  process  must 
undergo  a  corresponding  change.  The  interaction  theory  had 
presented  no  difficulty  to  the  earlier  thinkers;  but  for  the  En- 
lightenment, with  its  sharp  separation  of  soul  from  body  and 
its  more  stringent  delimitation  of  the  different  spheres  of  life,  it 
had  become  a  very  difficult  problem.  In  his  treatment  of  it, 
Leibniz,  like  Spinoza,  strikes  out  for  himself.  If  the  monads, 
the  ultimate  constituents  of  reality,  are  self-subsisting  entities, 
they  can  be  affected  only  by  their  own  states,  and  they  cannot 
possibly  be  susceptible  to  outside  influences.  The  monads  have 
no  windows  of  communication  with  a  world  outside  them.  They 
are  not  empty  tablets  to  be  filled  in  by  some  strange  hand. 
Rather,  all  their  movement  originates  from  within;  their  devel- 
opment can  only  be  self-development.  Since  the  fundamental 
faculty  of  the  soul  is  its  power  to  frame  ideas,  and  so  concentrate 
the  manifold  into  a  unity,  it  follows  that  all  vital  process  is  at 
bottom  a  presentation  of  ideas,  the  unfolding  of  a  realm  of 
thought;  all  progress,  a  progress  in  clearness  and  an  emancipa- 
tion from  primitive  confusion. 

The  doctrine  of  monads  cannot  thus  transform  our  notions 
of  reality  without  itself  giving  rise  to  a  difficult  and  apparently 
insoluble  problem.  Each  monad  must  live  out  its  own  life, 
educe  all  its  content  from  itself,  and  be  unaffected  by  any  out- 
side influences.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the  very  meaning  of  life 
is  that  it  should  represent  the  world  around  us  and  become  a 
mirror  of  the  universe.  How  then  can  that  which  has  a  self- 
contained  existence  at  the  same  time  represent  the  world  ?  How 
can  life  as  it  is  unfolded  within  us  be  the  same  as  the  life  of  the 
world  about  us  ?  How  can  my  thought  be  attuned  to  the  world  ? 
This  is  a  crucial  point,  but  nowhere  does  Leibniz's  logical  imag- 
ination rise  to  a  greater  height  of  audacity  and  self-confidence. 
There  is  one  way  in  which  the  inner  life,  while  running  its  inde- 
pendent course,  may  yet  correspond  to  the  outside  world.  A 
higher  Power,  dominating  soul  and  world  alike,  must  so  have 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  395 

arranged  everything  beforehand  that  each  monad,  in  the  process 
of  its  own  development,  produces  an  exact  representation  of 
that  which  transpires  in  the  real  world  outside  it.  The  clocks 
must  have  been  so  cleverly  designed  by  the  great  Artificer  that 
they  always  keep  time  with  each  other,  though  there  is  no  physi- 
cal connection  between  them,  nor  are  they  regulated  from  out- 
side. Thus  there  would  be  an  exact  correspondence  between 
our  conception  of  the  sun,  for  instance,  and  the  actual  sun. 
This  dizzy  hypothesis  soon  became  part  of  Leibniz's  definite 
teaching,  and  constitutes  the  much-discussed  doctrine  of  a 
"pre-established  harmony,"  which  seems  to  him  to  give  us  the 
grandest  and  therefore  the  worthiest  conception  both  of  God 
and  the  universe. 

We,  his  successors,  are  more  struck  by  the  artificiality  of  the 
conception  than  by  its  grandeur.  But,  in  several  important 
respects,  this  doctrine  has  undoubtedly  aided  the  expansion  of 
the  realm  of  thought.  This  is  particularly  true  in  regard  to  the 
idea  of  the  soul.  If  the  soul  is  to  contain  a  world  within  itself, 
and  develop  a  world  out  of  itself,  it  must  be  more  than  mere 
consciousness:  we  must  penetrate  beyond,  and  recognize  the 
existence  of  a  subconscious  life  of  the  soul.  We  have  only  to 
observe  ourselves  more  closely  to  see  that  there  is  such  a  life, 
and  that  the  act  of  presentation  and  the  becoming  aware  of  the 
object  presented  are  two  very  different  processes.  Our  sensations 
very  often  arise  from  a  summation  of  small  impressions  which, 
taken  singly,  altogether  elude  observation.  But  they  must  be 
there,  or  we  could  never  become  conscious  of  their  total  effect. 
For  example,  we  should  be  unable  to  hear  the  soft  murmur  of 
the  sea,  because  the  small  waves  which  give  rise  to  it  are  not 
audible  individually.  Thus,  what  our  consciousness  registers  is 
never  more  than  a  fraction  of  our  total  being  and  experience. 
The  psychical  life  consists  of  innumerable  presentations,  end- 
lessly interwoven.  It  is  no  mere  barren  soil,  but  is  full  of  tiny 
shoots  just  beginning  to  make  their  way  upward.  Consciousness 
is  only  the  climax  of  a  process  which  reaches  down  into  unfath- 
omable depths. 


396  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

This  discovery  of  the  subconscious  is  Leibniz's  chief  support 
for  his  doctrine  of  the  universal  diffusion  of  psychical  life.  For 
it  leads  to  a  distinction  of  different  stages  in  the  process  of  inte- 
gration, different  degrees  of  clearness  in  the  form  of  presenta- 
tion, varying  from  haziest  confusion  to  the  most  perfect  distinct- 
ness. There  is  unbroken  continuity  of  psychical  life,  and  every 
part  of  it  is  subject  to  the  same  laws;  but  at  the  same  time  there 
is  plenty  of  room  for  individual  differences,  and  particularly  for 
the  attribution  of  a  very  special  dignity  to  man.  He  alone  has 
a  self-consciousness,  a  principle  of  unity  from  the  heights  of 
which  he  can  review  all  different  isolated  events  and  connect 
them  together.  This  increased  systematisation  is  naturally 
accompanied  by  the  rise  of  a  moral,  as  distinct  from  a  merely 
physical,  identity.  We  have  the  emergence  of  personality, 
responsibility,  free  action,  a  moral  world.  With  personality,  the 
indestructibility  of  the  monads  becomes  an  individual  immor- 
tality. Man  attains  an  individual  significance,  while  still  indis- 
solubly  linked  with  the  universe.  He  is  closely  bound  to  nature, 
while  at  the  same  time  raised  above  her.  Far  as  we  are  from 
being  the  centre  of  the  whole,  yet  by  virtue  of  our  reason  we  can 
be  as  gods,  imitating  after  our  humble  fashion  the  Architect  of 
the  universe.  As  free  citizens  we  can  advance  the  welfare  of 
the  whole.  Man  is  "not  a  part,  but  a  counterpart,  of  Godhead, 
a  representative  of  the  Universe,  a  citizen  of  the  Kingdom  of 
God."  "In  our  selfhood  there  is  a  latent  infinity,  an  impress 
or  an  image  of  the  Omniscience  and  Omnipotence  of  God." 

The  expansion  of  the  soul  till  it  becomes  itself  a  world  full  of 
infinite  life  tells  most  powerfully  against  any  limitation  of  our 
knowledge  to  mere  sense-experience.  Now  at  last  it  is  possible 
to  understand  how  the  soul  can  possess  something  without  hav- 
ing received  it,  and  how,  despite  all  differences  of  opinion,  men 
can  still  obey  certain  common  principles  of  thought  and  action. 
In  each  rational  being  there  is  a  buried  treasure  of  eternal  and 
universal  truths,  and  to  bring  these  out  into  the  full  daylight  of 
consciousness  is  the  main  task  of  philosophic  science.  Happi- 
ness, too,  strikes  deeper  roots  as  the  soul's  life  in  its  growth 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  397 

transcends  the  limits  of  consciousness.  "He  who  is  happy  does 
not  indeed  experience  his  joy  at  every  moment  of  the  day,  for 
sometimes  he  rests  from  thinking,  and  commonly,  too,  turns  his 
attention  to  befitting  occupations.  It  is  enough  that  he  can 
experience  it  as  often  as  he  wishes  to  think  about  it,  and  that  in 
the  intervals  a  joyousness  which  springs  therefrom  is  visible  in 
his  actions  and  character." 

Whatever  thus  raises  the  level  of  humanity  as  a  whole  implies 
for  Leibniz  a  corresponding  elevation  of  the  individual.  For  as 
every  single  thing  has  its  own  distinguishing  characteristic,  so 
the  particular  human  being  is  by  no  means  merely  a  sample  of 
his  species.  It  is  true  that  we  all  reflect  the  same  universe  and 
reflect  it  according  to  the  same  laws;  but  each  one  of  us  reflects 
it  in  his  own  peculiar  fashion,  or  to  give  this  the  more  modern 
turn  which  we  find  in  Leibniz — referring  to  the  doctrine  of  per- 
spective— each  one  looks  at  the  universe  from  his  own  particular 
point  of  view.  At  the  same  time,  we  are  circled  round  by  an  all- 
embracing  truth.  It  is  Leibniz  who  introduces  the  mediaeval 
term  "individuality"  (individualitas)  into  our  modern  world. 
He  is  the  originator  of  the  saying  that  the  individual  encloses 
the  infinite  within  itself  (Vindividualite  enveloppe  Finfini). 

Individuality,  then,  receives  at  Leibniz's  hands  a  richer  and 
a  profounder  significance.  But  this  added  significance  is 
not  something  won  once  and  for  all.  The  winning  of  it  is  a 
task  which  is  always  confronting  us  and  requires  incessant 
renewal  of  effort.  The  depths  of  the  individual  nature  must 
first  be  reached  and  wakened  from  their  slumber  into  active  life : 
since  the  task  is  endless,  it  can  only  be  achieved  by  endless  prog- 
ress. This  progress  presents  itself  to  Leibniz,  as  his  doctrine  of 
continuity  would  lead  us  to  expect,  in  the  guise  of  a  slow  but  un- 
interrupted process.  There  are  no  gaps,  no  skipping,  no  back- 
sliding. What  seems  to  be  a  sudden  revolution  was  really  being 
prepared  long  beforehand.  When  we  might  seem  to  be  checked 
or  driven  back,  we  are  really  only  concentrating  our  energies  for  a 
further  advance.  Moreover,  nothing  being  radically  evil,  there  is 
no  need  for  a  complete  revolution :  the  moral  life  consists  in  gradu- 


398  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

al  improvement  and  a  slow  ripening  to  maturity  (se  perjectionner). 
Self-development  is  taken  to  be  merely  the  unfolding  of  a  nature 
already  existent;  it  is  an  ordered  progress,  not  a  conversion. 
And  as  with  the  individual,  so  it  is  with  history  as  a  whole.  For 
the  first  time  we  are  presented  with  a  clearly  developed  philos- 
ophy of  history,  that  romance  of  humanity,  as  Leibniz  terms  it. 
The  present  enables  us  to  understand  the  past  because  at  bot- 
tom the  same  thing  happens  everywhere  (c'est  tout  comme  id); 
but  as  the  degree  of  its  development  is  different  in  different 
periods,  these  periods  naturally  present  very  different  charac- 
teristics. All  periods,  however,  are  bound  together  in  unbroken 
sequence;  they  are  all  parts  of  the  same  structure.  The  present 
has  its  own  safe  niche  in  between  the  past  and  the  future.  "It 
is  weighted  with  the  past  and  pregnant  with  the  future."  The 
possibilities  of  the  immediate  present  are  confined  within  very 
narrow  limits.  The  goal  cannot  be  swiftly  won  by  stormy  and 
aggressive  methods.  But  however  small  our  share  in  the  work 
of  the  centuries,  it  is  yet  an  indispensable  item  of  the  whole 
structure,  and  nothing  of  it  is  wasted.  Leibniz  more  than  any 
one  else  has  shown  the  inner  fitness  and  historical  necessity  of 
the  conception  of  perpetual  progress  and  firm  faith  in  a  more 
ideal  future,  items  of  supreme  importance  in  the  spiritual  inven- 
tory of  our  modern  world.  The  opposition  of  reason  and  his- 
tory, so  familiar  to  the  Enlightenment,  gives  way  before  the 
discovery  of  reason  in  history,  and  a  new  path  is  opened  up  for 
developments  of  far-reaching  importance. 

In  the  world  of  action  this  conception  of  progress  finds  ex- 
pression in  a  strenuous  industry.  The  seething  ferment  of  the 
Renaissance  is  clarified  and  calmed,  but  its  energy  is  unim- 
paired. Even  the  form  of  knowledge,  which  gives  to  the  whole 
psychical  life  its  peculiar  stamp,  changes  its  character;  it  is  no 
longer  either  a  wrestling  with  the  universe,  as  in  the  Renais- 
sance, or  a  calm  intuition  as  with  Spinoza.  It  is  rather  an 
unwearied  effort  to  secure  clearness  in  every  department  and 
detail,  a  dissecting  and  laying  bare  of  all  traditional  ideas,  an 
endeavour  to  find  a  sufficient  reason  for  what  men  ordinarily 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  399 

accept  as  given,  an  illuminating  analysis  even  of  ultimate 
axioms;  in  all  these  respects  it  marks  a  vast  extension  of  the 
field  of  thought.  And  as  the  consciousness  of  life  deepens,  its 
activities  become  more  strenuous.  Not  only  does  thought 
prove  a  more  effective  stimulus  to  outwardly  directed  activity: 
it  becomes  more  and  more  a  purposive  activity  in  itself.  Leibniz 
is  forever  cogitating  and  brooding  over  possible  improvements, 
through  better  knowledge,  both  in  the  inner  and  outer  conditions 
of  man's  lot.  He  would  fain  devise  new  methods  for  the  im- 
provement of  our  powers  of  thought,  inference  and  memory; 
he  would  like,  too,  to  create  a  universal  language;  but  he  still 
has  time  to  spare  for  devising  improvements  in  domestic  uten- 
sils, mail-coaches,  and  so  forth.  Nothing  is  too  big  for  him  and 
nothing  too  small.  Everywhere  he  finds  incitement  to  new 
ideas  and  fresh  proposals.  The  utilitarian  bent  of  the  Enlight- 
enment is  nowhere  more  clearly  revealed  than  in  his  personality 
and  work. 

This  restless  industry  may  seem  at  first  sight  to  compare 
unfavourably  with  the  calm  greatness  of  Spinoza's  endeavour 
after  the  One  and  the  Eternal.  But  Leibniz  in  no  wise  wastes 
himself  on  mere  multiplicity  and  movement,  however  important 
they  seem  to  him;  he  would  have  them  firmly  rooted  in  a  Unity 
that  is  eternal.  Only  by  thus  grounding  the  finite  in  the  infinite 
can  he  justify  his  own  peculiar  doctrine  of  a  thoroughly  coherent 
world-system,  of  the  homogeneity  of  all  existence,  of  the  corre- 
spondence between  soul  and  universe.  There  is  even  an  approx- 
imation— more  particularly  apparent  in  his  German  writings — 
to  the  inwardness  of  mysticism  with  its  conviction  of  the  imme- 
diate presence  of  God  within  our  nature.  It  is  in  such  a  mood 
that  he  must  have  written:  "God  is  at  once  the  easiest  and  the 
hardest  to  know:  the  first  and  the  easiest  where  the  path  is 
bright,  the  last  and  the  hardest  where  the  path  is  dark." 

It  is,  then,  a  gross  injustice  to  attribute  Leibniz's  support  of 
religion  to  a  desire  for  ecclesiastical  favour.  The  real  truth  is 
that  all  his  confidence  in  the  human  reason  rests  upon  his  belief 
that  it  is  grounded  in  a  divine  reason;  otherwise  we  cannot 


400  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

hope  to  reach  those  eternal  truths  which  alone  give  value  to  our 
life  and  endeavour.  The  whole  earth  "cannot  minister  to  our 
full  perfection  unless  it  gives  us  the  opportunity  to  discover 
eternal  and  universal  truths  which  must  be  valid  in  all  worlds, 
at  all  periods,  and  even  for  God  Himself  from  whom  they  eter- 
nally proceed."  It  is  this  conviction  which  keeps  him,  despite 
the  natural  mobility  of  his  mind,  from  a  destructive  doctrine  of 
relativity.  While  he  allows  each  individual  to  view  the  world 
from  his  own  standpoint,  yet  the  Absolute  and  Divine  view  is 
ever  for  him  the  ultimate  and  infallible  criterion. 

(cc.)  Reconciliation  of  Religion  and  Philosophy. — If  it  is  so 
necessary  for  thought  in  its  own  interest  to  base  itself  upon  God, 
we  can  scarcely  be  surprised  that  Leibniz  should  also  seek  to 
bring  his  philosophy  into  touch  with  Christianity:  in  this  way 
he  might  reasonably  hope  both  to  give  an  additional  support  to 
philosophic  science,  and  to  increase  the  influence  of  the  estab- 
lished religion  which  already,  as  an  historic  fact,  had  strong 
claims  on  his  regard.  For  in  religion,  as  in  life  generally,  clear 
knowledge  seemed  to  him  the  goal  of  all  thought.  The  love  of 
God,  which  is  the  essence  of  religion,  can  be  neither  genuine 
nor  enlightened  unless  it  rests  upon  the  knowledge  of  God.  "It 
is  impossible  to  love  God  without  knowing  His  perfections." 
Only  through  such  knowledge  can  religion  become  a  conviction 
and  a  sentiment  that  can  dominate  the  whole  man.  Belief  with- 
out insight  is  but  idle  repetition  and  acceptance  at  second-hand. 
On  the  other  hand,  an  emotional  religious  life  unguided  by 
reason  easily  tends  to  confusion  and  exaggeration.  Knowledge 
is  the  only  way  of  winning  for  religion  the  allegiance  of  the 
whole  soul.  It  does  not  exclude  other  spiritual  activities;  in 
particular,  it  does  not  place  itself  in  opposition  to  feeling;  but 
it  is  the  completion  of  the  whole  life.  It  was  this  temper  that 
enabled  Leibniz  and  the  older  German  rationalism,  which  took 
him  as  its  model,  to  feel  thoroughly  at  one  with  Christianity, 
holding  it  to  be  the  purest  and  most  enlightened  of  all  religions, 
the  religion  of  the  spirit.  Through  Christ,  he  maintains,  the 


THE   RISE   OF  THE   NEW  WORLD  401 

religion  of  the  wise  became  the  religion  of  the  people;  natural 
religion  was  ennobled  through  a  new  sense  of  obligation;  the 
Godhead  became  not  merely  the  object  of  our  fear  and  vener- 
ation, but  also  of  our  love  and  heartfelt  allegiance. 

From  this  starting-point  the  reconciliation  of  Christian  faith 
and  philosophic  insight  did  not  seem  to  Leibniz  overwhelmingly 
difficult.  There  was  much  in  his  philosophy  which  was  akin 
to  Christianity:  the  grounding  of  the  world  within  a  unity  that 
transcends  it,  the  identification  of  reality  with  the  soul's  experi- 
ence, the  central  position  assigned  to  man,  the  due  recognition 
of  moral  values.  All  this  needed  only  to  be  expressed  in  the 
more  vivid  language  of  history  to  be  in  complete  agreement  with 
the  Christianity  of  Leibniz's  day.  Still  it  was  all  rather  a  theory 
of  moral  and  spiritual  values  than  a  power  to  renovate  and 
reform  the  soul.  There  are  two  points  in  particular  from  the 
establishment  of  which  Leibniz  hoped  to  effect  a  complete 
reconciliation  between  philosophical  teaching  and  religious  con- 
viction: the  freedom  of  the  will  as  the  fundamental  condition 
of  a  moral  order,  and  the  reasonableness  of  reality  as  the 
expression  and  proof  of  a  divine  Providence. 

The  treatment  of  the  problem  of  will  is  a  striking  illustration 
of  the  extent  to  which  a  philosopher  can  deceive  himself  as  to 
the  nature  of  his  own  teaching.  Leibniz  is  keenly  opposed  to 
determinism.  He  wants  to  demonstrate — and  thinks  he  has 
demonstrated — the  truth  of  freedom.  But  in  reality  he  leaves 
no  room  whatsoever  for  freedom:  he  transforms  the  whole 
psychical  life  into  a  mechanism  of  the  intellect.  For  when  he 
proves  that  all  activity  is  sejf-determined,  and  that,  so  far  from 
following  uniform  laws,  it  reflects  even  in  detail  the  peculiarities 
of  the  individual;  when,  moreover,  he  maintains  that  the  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  man  is  his  capacity  to  act  as  his 
rationally  determined  psychical  experience  dictates — then  we 
cannot  but  feel  that,  though  determinism  may  lose  something  of 
its  bluntness,  yet  no  victory  has  been  won  for  freedom. 

Again  the  doctrine  of  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  however 
stimulating  and  suggestive,  is  significant  rather  as  betokening 


402  THE   MODERN   WORLD 

the  heightened  vitality  of  the  age  than  as  a  contribution  to  phil- 
osophy. It  could  only  convince  where  there  was  already  con- 
viction. In  his  estimate  of  the  existing  order  Leibniz  already 
reveals  his  optimistic  temper.  He  makes  no  attempt  to  deny 
that  the  world  contains  much  imperfection,  evil  and  pain;  and 
that  ills,  metaphysical,  moral  and  physical,  are  all  too  prevalent. 
But  these  ills  are  not  so  great  as  they  seem  to  the  peevish  and 
embittered  souls  who  scent  evil  everywhere  and  put  poisonous 
interpretations  upon  even  the  noblest  actions.  Generally  speak- 
ing, the  good  outweighs  the  ill,  just  as  there  are  more  dwelling- 
houses  than  prisons.  The  fact  is  that  both  in  virtue  and  vice 
a  certain  mean  is  the  rule.  Saints  are  exceptional,  but  so  are 
rogues.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  bad  does  not  constitute  a  king- 
dom of  its  own,  but  plays  a  merely  subordinate  role  in  the 
world's  development.  But  even  when  confined  within  these 
limits,  it  is  still  a  serious  objection  to  a  doctrine  which  makes  the 
world  rest  upon  an  Absolute  Reason.  It  was  necessary  to  go 
further  and  show  that  the  world  with  all  its  evil  was  better  than 
a  world  would  be  without  any  evil.  Such  a  proof  is  actually 
undertaken  in  the  Theodicy,  Leibniz's  most  considerable  work, 
which  originated  in  his  conversations  with  the  gifted  Queen, 
Sophie  Charlotte. 

If  the  question  is  to  be  rightly  answered,  it  is  essential  that  it 
should  be  rightly  put.  It  must  be  put  from  the  point  of  view 
not  of  the  part  but  of  the  whole — and  even  the  whole  human 
race  is  only  a  part  of  the  universe.  Perhaps  this  shifting  of  the 
centre  of  gravity  may  transform  philosophy  as  it  did  astronomy 
which,  since  learning  from  Copernicus  "to  place  the  eye  in  the 
sun,"  has  brought  our  planetary  system  out  of  a  state  of  chaotic 
confusion  into  one  of  complete  orderliness.  The  world,  as  the 
creation  of  the  All-powerful  and  All-good  Spirit,  must  be  the 
best  of  all  possible  worlds.  Leibniz  has  sought  to  make  this 
statement  credible  rather  by  refuting  objections  than  by  bring- 
ing direct  evidence  in  support  of  it.  He  endeavours  to  find  a 
standard  of  value  which  shall  transcend  all  particular  qualities 
taken  individually,  and  he  finds  it  in  the  idea  of  perfection,  the 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  403 

perfection,  that  is,  of  active  being,  of  vital  force;  regarded  in 
this  way,  the  world  is  the  best  possible  because  it  is  the  system 
in  which  life  is  most  fully  developed.  We  see  this  in  nature; 
everywhere  she  employs  the  simplest  means  and  takes  the 
shortest  paths,  while  the  rules  that  she  obeys  are  adjusted  to 
each  other  in  the  most  economical  way.  We  see  it  again  in 
the  spiritual  life  of  man,  with  its  challenge  to  personal  decision 
and  unwearying  co-operation  in  the  process  of  the  world's 
development.  If  the  goodness  of  the  world  be  contested  on  the 
ground  that  every  life  has  its  troubles,  the  natural  reply  is  that 
we  are  not  concerned  with  individuals  but  with  the  whole. 
That  which  is  best  on  the  whole  is  not  best  in  every  detail.  As 
on  a  draught-board  the  individual  pieces  can  only  move  in  a 
way  that  suits  the  whole  plan,  so,  in  real  life,  the  individual 
must  be  subordinate  to  the  whole.  If  the  question  is  not  so 
much  what  is  possible  in  itself  (le  possible)  as  what  is  possible  in 
conjunction  with  other  possibilities  (le  compossible),  it  may  very 
likely  be  true  that  a  union  of  inferior  units  is  more  productive 
than  where  the  units  are  of  higher  value.  "A  mean  thing  joined 
to  another  mean  thing  can  often  bring  about  a  better  result  than 
can  be  accomplished  by  the  union  of  two  other  things,  each  of 
which  is  in  itself  nobler  than  either  of  the  former.  Here  lies  the 
secret  of  election  by  grace,  and  the  problem  is  solved."  Evil 
itself  can  find  a  place  in  Leibniz's  system,  thanks  to  his  mathe- 
matical and  quantitative  way  of  reasoning.  From  evil  a  greater 
good  may  very  probably  emerge,  if  not  for  the  individual  him- 
self, at  least  for  others,  and  in  this  way  the  total  sum  of  good 
may  be  increased.  Was  the  greatness  of  the  Roman  state  pos- 
sible apart  from  the  horrors  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  the  king- 
ship ?  If,  in  forming  our  judgments,  we  are  not  guided  by  imme- 
diate impressions,  but  carefully  trace  the  consequences  and 
connections  of  events,  the  reasonableness  of  the  whole  will 
assuredly  be  established.  There  is  so  much  reason  in  what  we 
do  see  that  we  can  take  comfort  and  apply  to  the  universe 
Socrates's  remark  about  Heraclitus:  "What  I  understand 
pleases  me;  I  believe  that  the  rest  would  please  me  just  as  well 


404  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

if  I  could  understand  it."  By  the  power  of  thought  man  can 
share  the  life  of  the  universe  in  all  its  richness,  and  in  so  doing, 
forget  all  the  afflictions  of  his  particular  lot.  The  true  knowledge 
lifts  us  to  a  height  whence  we  "can  see  things  beneath  our  feet 
as  though  we  were  looking  from  the  stars."  We  must  also 
remember  the  incessant  progress  of  the  world's  development, 
and  the  fact  that  the  soul  belongs  to  an  eternal  order.  "If  we 
add  to  this  that  the  soul  does  not  perish,  nay,  more,  that  each 
perfection  is  bound  to  persist  and  bear  fruit,  then  for  the  first 
time  we  can  rightly  see  how  the  true  bliss,  springing  from  wisdom 
and  virtue,  is  overwhelmingly  and  immeasurably  superior  to  all 
that  the  heart  of  man  can  conceive." 

Objections  to  this  way  of  thought  are  not  far  to  seek.  Leib- 
niz suggests  possibilities,  and,  in  so  far  as  they  do  not  admit  of 
being  convincingly  disproved,  regards  them  as  certainties. 
Their  realisation  is  a  matter  of  faith  rather  than  evidence.  But 
the  faith  is  itself  the  expression  of  a  keen  and  buoyant  vitality, 
and  it  is  in  the  light  of  this  sentiment  that  we  must  interpret 
the  doctrine  of  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds. 

Leibniz  is  important  for  his  manifold  suggestiveness,  and  still 
more  important  through  his  insistence  on  certain  main  princi- 
ples which  only  needed  liberation  from  their  scholastic  setting 
to  become  the  confession  of  faith  of  our  classical  literature,  and, 
more  generally,  the  guide  of  our  modern  life.  But  the  detail  of 
his  system  cannot  fail  to  excite  opposition;  it  leads,  in  fact  to 
other  goals  than  those  which  he  himself  contemplated.  His  own 
consciousness  is  absorbed  by  the  problem  of  establishing  aright 
relation  between  nature  and  spirit,  the  physical  and  the  moral 
world.  In  all  that  concerns  details,  nature  must  supply  her  own 
principle  of  explanation,  but  viewed  as  a  whole  her  basis  is 
spiritual  and  she  must  serve  spiritual  ends.  In  the  course  of 
working  out  this  conception,  however,  Leibniz  achieves  the 
very  opposite  result  to  that  which  he  intended.  Concepts  proper 
to  the  natural  order  intrude  into  the  spiritual  life,  and  subjugate 
that  which  they  were  meant  to  serve.  All  being  centres  in  the 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  405 

life  of  the  soul,  but  this  life  is  transformed  into  a  mere  fabric  of 
presentations,  as  the  familiar  analogy  of  the  timepiece  suffi- 
ciently shows.  The  quantitative  form  of  treatment  proper  to 
the  study  of  nature  is  relentlessly  extended  to  that  of  mind. 
Even  the  distinctions  between  good  and  evil,  true  and  false,  are 
turned  into  mere  differences  of  degree,  so  that  the  new  meta- 
physics threatens  to  degenerate  into  a  mere  extension  of  physics; 
while,  through  insistence  on  the  increment  of  force  or  of  vitality 
as  the  supreme  test,  the  moral  gives  place  to  a  dynamical  form 
of  valuation.  The  worst  contradiction  of  all,  however,  is  that 
while  Leibniz  insisted  most  emphatically  on  the  self-immediacy 
of  the  psychical  life,  he  could  do  no  better  than  depict  it  as 
mere  cognitive  reflection  of  a  world  outside  it.  Surely  this  is  to 
destroy  the  conception  of  inwardness,  or  at  least  to  reduce  it  to  an 
empty  futility. 

So,  again,  intellectualism  overshoots  the  mark  and  we  are 
driven  to  find  another  solution.  This  is  just  what  the  later 
developments  in  Germany  have  attempted,  thereby  giving  full 
effect  to  what  was  really  fruitful  in  Leibniz.  His  attempt  to 
blend  old  with  new,  which,  when  followed  up,  leads  to  incessant 
contradictions,  is  yet  in  itself  significant  and  fruitful  as  contrib- 
uting to  a  larger  and  steadier  outlook.  Any  one  who  places 
a  value  on  historical  continuity  will  count  it  a  great  matter 
that  through  Leibniz's  unwearied  efforts  the  old  order  was 
able  to  pass  quietly  into  a  new,  and  spiritual  life  in  Germany 
was  thereby  preserved  from  all  abrupt  changes,  whether  revo- 
lutionary or  reactionary.  We  may  not  agree  with  all  Leibniz's 
doctrines,  but  this  does  not  affect  our  indebtedness  to  him  as  a 
thinker.* 

(c)  Enlightenment:  Period  oj  Decline.    A.  Smith 

The  leaders  of  seventeenth-century  thought  had  already  out- 
lined the  main  features  of  the  Enlightenment;  but  it  remained 
for  those  of  the  eighteenth  to  work  them  out  in  detail  and  apply 
them  over  the  whole  of  social  life.  The  past  must  no  longer 

•  Sec  Appendix  M. 


406  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

burden  the  present  with  its  mere  authority:  it  must  show  its 
credentials,  and  all  tradition  opposed  to  the  revivifying,  reju- 
venating spirit  of  the  present  must  be  set  aside.  A  clarifying, 
emancipating  movement  invades  all  departments  alike;  through- 
out, the  supernatural  and  transcendental  view  yields  place  to 
one  that  is  natural  and  immanental.  This  is  true  alike  in  re- 
ligion and  ethics,  in  politics  and  economics,  in  the  philosophy  of 
history  and  in  aesthetics.  Innumerable  slumbering  forces  are 
discovered  and  wakened  from  sleep,  and  with  the  heightened 
vitality  comes  a  proud  consciousness  of  power,  a  glad  self-confi- 
dence. The  contradictions  of  the  early  stage,  though  now  for 
the  first  time  fully  realised,  are  yet  powerless  to  discourage. 
They  rather  act  as  a  spur  urging  men  to  put  forth  their  utmost 
energy  and  bring  in  a  better  future.  Speaking  generally,  cos- 
mological  problems  yield  place  to  those  which  concern  the  con- 
dition and  work  of  man;  metaphysics  gives  way  to  psychology. 
The  Age  of  Reason  can  be  ushered  in  only  through  the  liberation 
and  development  of  the  individual.  We  are  bound  to  admit 
that  this  view  makes  our  whole  existence  richer,  fresher,  more 
alive.  But  at  the  same  time  the  mere  individual  often  claims  for 
himself  what  can  really  belong  only  to  spiritual  life  as  a  whole, 
and  thereby  lowers  and  impoverishes  his  own  condition.  Men's 
minds  are  dominated  by  the  idea  of  a  reason  unfettered  by 
history,  but  this  idea  is  itself  the  product  of  historical  develop- 
ment and  forms  a  necessary  transition  from  a  state  of  bondage 
to  one  of  freedom.  We  can  transcend  this  eighteenth  century 
only  in  the  atmosphere  of  freedom  which  it  created  for  us. 

The  English  are  the  leaders  in  the  Enlightenment  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  In  France,  the  doctrines  of  Descartes,  or 
such  of  them  as  had  really  proved  influential,  had  soon  become 
so  overlaid  with  scholasticism  that  English  influence  was  neces- 
sary to  enlist  the  general  feeling  of  the  nation  in  support  of  the 
new  movement.  In  England,  owing  to  the  exciting  political  and 
religious  struggles  of  the  seventeenth  century,  men's  minds  were 
much  more  alert,  and  with  the  accession  of  the  Prince  of  Orange 
to  the  throne,  the  Enlightenment  attained  its  greatest  breadth 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  407 

and  freedom.  So  Berkeley  could  truly  say:  "Thinking  is  the 
great  desideration  of  the  present  age."  All  questions  of  human 
interest  were  eagerly  discussed,  the  dialogue  form  being  espe- 
cially favoured,  now  as  a  polemical  weapon,  and  again  as  a 
means  of  presenting  philosophical  truths  in  a  popular  way. 
Through  the  medium  of  the  periodical  a  new  literature  sprang 
up.  The  growing  significance  of  the  individual  and  his  relations 
with  other  individuals  found  expression  in  the  modern  novel, 
which  also,  for  the  first  time,  contributed  a  realistic  picture  of 
social  relationships.  Everywhere  there  was  a  vigorous  attempt 
to  go  back  to  the  psychical  bases  of  our  social  life,  a  praiseworthy 
and  industrious  effort  to  secure  a  reasoned  view  of  life  and 
improvement  of  social  conditions;  and  all  this  involved  an  ever- 
increasing  dependence  upon  the  immediate  environment.  This 
social  culture,  however,  was  of  an  unmistakably  bourgeois  and 
simple  character,  in  direct  contrast  to  the  pomp  and  glitter  of 
Louis  XIV.'s  court. 

The  transforming  power  of  this  movement  is  equally  apparent 
in  the  spheres  of  morality  and  religion.  All  its  teachers  agree 
in  rejecting  mere  authority,  and  in  building  upon  a  foundation 
of  personal  knowledge.  .  They  agree,  too,  in  opposing  all  super- 
natural intervention :  the  ends  we  aim  at  must  be  determined 
by  our  own  nature  and  our  relationship  to  the  environment. 
All  inquiry  begins  and  ends  with  the  individual.  Ethics  is  based 
not  on  theology  or  metaphysics,  but  on  psychology.  It  is  the 
task  of  science  to  lay  bare,  by  means  of  a  penetrating  analysis, 
those  fundamental  sentiments  which,  when  intensified,  give  rise 
to  moral  relationships.  Most  of  these  teachers  consider  that 
morality  consists  in  working  for  others;  true  virtue  is  to  work 
with  heart  and  hand  for  the  welfare  of  society.  Again,  most  of 
them  agree  in  transferring  the  motives  of  action  from  the  next 
world  to  this.  We  are  not  to  be  influenced  by  any  prospect  of 
divine  punishment  or  reward  for  our  actions,  but  the  reward  is 
to  lie  in  the  value  of  the  action  itself  and  in  the  feeling  of  self- 
satisfaction  which  it  engenders.  This  feeling  is  further  height- 
ened by  the  self-respect  natural  to  a  free  man  who  seeks  within 


4o8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

himself  his  centre  of  gravity  and  does  not  recognize  any  external 
authority.  The  most  complete  exponent  of  this  type  of  thought 
is  Shaftesbury  (1671-1713).*  He  represents  man  as  a  being  en- 
dowed with  a  moral  sense  which  may  be  developed,  through 
training,  into  moral  discernment.  Virtue  consists  in  a  right 
adjustment  of  the  selfish  and  the  social  impulses;  the  latter 
must  be  strong;  the  former  not  too  strong,  and  well-subor- 
dinated to  the  social  impulse.  Harmony  is  here  the  supreme 
end;  or,  to  put  it  more  generally,  the  good  is  also  the  beautiful. 
This  is  why  it  is  pleasant  for  its  own  sake  and  needs  no  other 
reward  than  the  joy  which  abides  within  it.  Virtue  and  happi- 
ness are  inseparably  united.  Thus  the  self -sufficiency  of  morality 
and  its  value  as  an  end  in  itself  have  their  ground  in  the  very 
nature  of  moral  experience — a  clear  point  of  connection  with 
Greek  Ethics,  and  a  distinct  advance  upon  the  general  trend  of 
the  Enlightenment.  It  is  not  only  in  England  that  these  doc- 
trines have  made  themselves  felt.  They  have  also  exercised 
a  lasting  influence  over  eminent  German  poets  and  thinkers. 

In  the  sphere  of  religion,  we  find  the  individual  placing  the 
utmost  confidence  in  his  reason  and  mainly  occupied  with  a 
searching  criticism  of  received  beliefs.  First  there  is  an  on- 
slaught against  all  that  is  unreasonable,  and  then  against  all 
that  is  supernatural.  In  the  end,  the  only  content  left  to  religion 
is  morality:  to  be  virtuous  becomes  the  one  true  way  of  wor- 
shipping God.  To  rest  satisfied  with  this  conclusion  required 
a  strong  optimism — and  this,  indeed,  we  find.  It  was  generally 
assumed  that  the  benevolent  impulses  were  strong  by  nature  and 
could  easily  gain  the  upper  hand  over  the  selfish  impulses.  Hap- 
piness was  far  more  widely  diffused  than  unhappiness:  "Take 
the  whole  earth  at  an  average,  for  one  man  who  suffers  pain  or 
misery,  you  will  find  twenty  in  prosperity  and  joy,  or,  at  least,  in 
tolerable  circumstances"  (A.  Smith).  The  same  writer  tells  us 
that  to  be  healthy,  out  of  debt,  and  of  a  good  conscience  is  all 
that  is  essential  to  happiness;  and  this  condition,  he  opines, 
despite  all  the  suffering  in  the  world,  is  man's  natural  and 
ordinary  lot,  the  condition  of  the  majority  of  mankind. 

*  See  Appendix  N. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  409 

Such  a  platitude  is  sufficient  to  show  how  many  questions  of 
morality  and  religion  were  left  untouched  by  the  English  En- 
lightenment. And  yet  we  must  not  depreciate  it.  It  gave  the 
first  impulse  toward  grounding  morality  and  religion  in  man's 
own  nature.  It  failed  to  sound  any  great  depths  because  it 
considered  man  as  merely  a  part  of  a  given  world,  not  as  a  mem- 
ber of  a  spiritual  order  embracing  and  transcending  the  world. 
This  step  was  reserved  for  German  Idealism,  but  German  Ideal- 
ism could  scarcely  have  taken  it  had  not  England  cleared  the 
way. 

The  most  important  work  of  the  English  Enlightenment  is 
Adam  Smith's  (1723-1790)  treatise  on  economics.  This,  in  its 
own  particular  department,  gives  classical  expression  to  the 
ideas  of  the  Enlightenment,  and  at  the  same  time  develops  a 
general  theory  of  life  and  action  which,  for  the  first  time,  allows 
to  economical  considerations  the  dominant  and  central  place  in 
the  world's  work.  All  human  existence  is  regarded  from  the 
economical  stand-point  of  material  subsistence,  just  as  at  other 
times  it  has  been  viewed  from  the  stand-point  of  religion,  of  art  or 
of  science.  This  new  attitude  is  so  rich  in  consequences,  and  so 
influential  even  to-day,  that  it  requires  a  more  detailed  presen- 
tation. 

It  is  in  Smith  that  the  economical  doctrines  of  the  Enlight- 
enment receive  their  clearest  expression  and  are  most  systemati- 
cally worked  out.  The  older  doctrine,  as  it  had  been  handed 
down  from  antiquity  through  the  Middle  Ages  and  right  on 
into  modern  times,  did  not  recognise  the  independence  of  the 
economical  point  of  view,  but  made  it  directly  subservient  to 
ethical  ends.  Nor  did  it  consider  economics  as  an  organic 
whole,  but  merely  as  a  collection  of  isolated  facts.  Moreover,  it 
had  no  idea  of  a  national  economy,  *.  «.,  of  any  connection  be- 
tween economical  and  national  relations.  Aristotle,  in  particular, 
set  forth  the  presuppositions  of  this  doctrine  with  great  distinct- 
ness. They  are  presuppositions  which  modern  life  has  shattered 
and  destroyed.  Now  that  material  goods  have  of  themselves 
the  power  to  awaken  dormant  energies  and  stimulate  activity, 


4io  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

they  cease  to  be  the  mere  means  of  existence  an.d  become  a  fac- 
tor of  prime  importance  for  life.  The  care  spent  on  them  is 
ennobled  by  the  fact  that  economics  is  looked  upon  as  a  matter 
of  national  policy.  The  Renaissance  had  already  paved  the 
way  for  a  revolution  in  this  direction.  It  had  produced  great 
results,  especially  in  the  France  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
was  influencing  the  thoughts  of  men  more  and  more.  But  no 
work  had  yet  been  done  along  these  lines  which  could  compare 
in  any  way  with  that  done  by  Adam  Smith;  he  was  the  first  to 
treat  the  problem  in  a  universal  manner,  and  to  give  to  modern 
conviction  on  the  subject  a  thoroughly  befitting  expression. 

Smith  begins  with  the  fact  of  division  of  labour.  This  is  no 
contrivance  of  man's  wisdom,  but  arises  out  of  his  natural  bent 
toward  barter,  and  its  tendency  is  to  expand  and  develop  indefi- 
nitely. It  makes  it  possible  to  do  everything  more  skilfully;  it 
saves  considerable  time  and  incites  men  to  the  discovery  of  ma- 
chines; in  all  these  ways  it  immeasurably  advances  economic 
productiveness,  and  therewith  the  welfare  and  well-being  of 
mankind.  It  is  the  main  factor  in  the  development  of  society 
from  a  savage  to  a  civilised  state.  Division  of  labour,  however, 
does  not  mean  any  dissociation  of  the  individual  members  of 
society,  but  rather  a  tightening  of  the  bonds  which  hold  them 
together.  In  fact,  it  is  only  possible  for  an  individual  to  persist 
and  prosper  in  so  far  as  he  contributes  to  his  fellows  something 
worth  having.  He  must  make  some  solid  contribution  of  a  use- 
ful kind,  and  this  more  than  anything  else  drives  him  to  put 
forth  all  his  powers  and  apply  them  in  a  purposive  manner.  As 
to  what  is  purposive,  he  whose  welfare — nay,  life — is  at  stake,  is 
surely  a  better  judge  than  any  stranger.  On  the  whole,  the 
relation  of  supply  and  demand  will  regulate  everything  in  the 
best  possible  way.  Where  a  need  arises,  there  will  be  an  imme- 
diate flow  of  energy  to  the  required  spot;  where,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  a  surplus,  there  will  be  an  equally  speedy  with- 
drawal of  energy.  The  freer  the  movement,  the  swifter  will  be 
the  process.  There  is  no  stronger  motive  to  work  than  compe- 
tition. There  is  no  need  of  any  oversight  on  the  part  of  State 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  411 

or  Corporations,  since  customers  themselves  are  the  most  effect- 
ive instrument  of  control.  In  fact,  all  intervention  of  the  State, 
whether  it  be  in  the  way  of  helping  or  hindering  economic  proc- 
esses, is,  under  normal  conditions,  an  evil.  For  all  artificial 
guidance  cannot  but  divert  the  currents  of  activity  from  their 
natural  channels,  retard  their  flow  and  lessen  their  productiveness. 
Monopolies  and  privileges  may  further  the  well-being  of  par- 
ticular classes,  but  they  are  harmful  to  the  prosperity  of  a  nation 
taken  as  a  whole.  The  natural  condition  of  such  prosperity  is 
"the  obvious  and  simple  system  of  natural  liberty"  allowing 
each  man  to  "pursue  his  own  interest  his  own  way."  More- 
over, it  is  the  idea  of  the  independence  of  the  free  individual 
which  gives  soul  to  life  and  action.  To  take  the  conflict  on  one's 
own  shoulders  and  look  dangers  straight  in  the  face  has  far 
more  spice  and  charm  than  a  safe  bed  of  another's  providing. 
But  conflict  demands  of  necessity  the  right  of  perfectly  free 
movement  on  the  part  of  individuals.  They  must  be  free  to 
choose  their  work  as  they  will,  and  to  change  one  trade,  or  place 
of  business,  for  another.  In  this  process  there  is  certain  to  be 
much  friction  and  misunderstanding,  but  the  process  itself  con- 
tains all  the  remedies  for  the  evil  and  in  the  end  offers  every  man 
a  measure  of  happiness. 

But  that  each  individual  should  exert  himself  to  the  utmost 
in  his  own  interest  is  the  best  way  of  insuring  the  prosperity  of 
the  community.  For  since  the  individual  can  only  advance 
himself  through  the  excellence  of  that  which  he  produces,  and 
competition  involves  the  spurring  on  of  one  by  another,  the  con- 
dition of  the  community  is  bound  to  make  continual  progress, 
and  all  the  more  certainly  because  it  is  the  unchanging  natural 
instincts  which  support  the  whole  structure.  So  a  reasonable 
result  can  be  reached  without  any  conscious  seeking  for  it  on  the 
part  of  the  actors  themselves,  an  idea  familiar  to  us  as  taken  up 
and  developed  by  Darwin.  Still,  division  and  conflict  would  be 
unavoidable,  were  it  not  for  a  solidarity  of  interests  between  the 
various  classes  and  callings,  which  insures  that  the  gain  of  the 
individual  shall  in  the  end  conduce  to  the  advantage  of  his  fel- 


412  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

lows.  That  this  is  so  is  with  Smith  an  adamantine  conviction. 
He  never  for  a  moment  doubts  that  the  gain  of  one  man  is,  di- 
rectly or  indirectly,  sooner  or  later,  the  gain  of  his  fellow-men. 
In  particular  he  singles  out  the  industrial  progress  of  Great 
Britain  and  attributes  to  it  the  much  improved  condition  of  the 
working-classes.  The  reality  of  this  mutual  aid  is  at  once  obvi- 
ous, if  only  we  cease  to  fasten  our  attention  on  individual  occur- 
rences and  direct  it  rather  to  the  system  as  a  whole. 

But  what  is  true  within  the  State  can  also  be  applied  to  the 
wider  field  of  international  relations,  and  here  it  constitutes  a 
strong  argument  for  an  unrestricted  free  trade.  Perfect  freedom 
in  the  exchange  of  wares  is  to  the  interest  alike  of  buyer  and 
seller;  in  "natural"  trading,  the  one  does  not  gain  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other,  but  both  are  gainers.  The  one  realises  his 
goods  at  a  profit;  the  other  is  given  a  chance  of  using  his  to 
greater  advantage.  This  is  particularly  true  in  the  exchange  of 
manufactured  articles  for  raw  products.  Thus  trade,  from 
being  a  fertile  source  of  discord  and  animosity,  becomes  a  bond 
of  union  and  friendship.  The  prosperity  of  our  neighbour  prof- 
its rather  than  harms  us.  Industrial  solidarity  expands  into  the 
solidarity  of  nations.  We  have  a  picture  of  peaceful  rivalry  and 
perpetual  progress. 

And  these  considerations  apply  to  spiritual  no  less  than  to 
material  labour,  so  that  in  the  end  it  is  the  rivalry  of  individuals 
which  supports  the  whole  fabric  of  civilisation.  Lofty  ideals 
seldom  draw  us  by  their  own  charm.  Rivalry  and  competition 
are  essential  to  progress.  This  is  particularly  true  of  religion, 
science  and  education.  They  have  the  surest  footing  and  the 
best  chance  of  progress  when  they  are  left  entirely  to  themselves, 
when  their  representatives  have  to  fight  hard  and  do  solid  work 
in  order  to  win  recognition  and  insure  a  continued  existence. 
All  conferring  of  privileges,  everything  that  gives  immunity  from 
care,  makes  for  laziness  and  deterioration.  So  it  is  easy  to 
understand  how  religions  are  more  powerful  at  the  commence- 
ment than  in  their  later  phases,  how  private  schools  show  better 
results  than  schools  under  public  management,  and  §o  on. 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  413 

Everywhere  the  vital  interests  of  individuals  are  the  mainspring 
of  action  and  the  sure  guarantee  of  progress.  The  doctrine  of 
economics  expands  into  a  general  scheme  of  life. 

The  merits  and  limitations  of  this  view  have  been  much  dis- 
cussed during  recent  decades.  To  us  the  doctrine  is  chiefly 
interesting  as  expressing  an  aspect  of  the  life-philosophy  of  the 
Enlightenment.  Its  method  at  once  proclaims  the  closeness  of 
the  connection.  The  writer  seeks,  by  means  of  a  penetrating 
analysis,  to  resolve  the  economic  process  into  its  simplest  ele- 
ments, to  bring  these  together,  and  thus  from  the  elements 
derive  a  picture  of  reality  as  a  whole.  This  certainly  brings 
clearness  and  lucidity  into  a  domain  which  otherwise  would 
be  a  scene  of  dire  confusion :  Adam  Smith's  theoretical  eluci- 
dation of  the  economic  life  constitutes  one  of  the  most  brill- 
iant triumphs  of  the  Enlightenment.  The  content  of  his  doctrine 
also  reveals  the  spirit  of  this  period.  Everywhere  it  is  nature 
which  is  called  upon :  commerce  is  reduced  to  the  play  of  natural 
instincts;  all  human  initiative  is  expressly  ruled  out.  It  is  quite 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  Enlightenment  to  make 
prosperity  depend  entirely  upon  the  free  movement  of  natural 
forces.  Moreover,  the  optimism  which  permeates  this  system  is 
in  complete  accord  with  the  Enlightenment.  The  system  stands 
or  falls  with  the  conviction  that  the  individual,  once  set  free 
from  artificial  restraints,  has  sufficient  strength  and  insight  to 
win  for  himself  a  suitable  place  in  life;  and  also  with  this  other 
conviction,  that  those  who  buy  are  both  willing  and  able  to 
choose  the  really  superior  article.  For  if  the  inferior  were  to 
m;iml  approval,  a  blow  would  be  struck  at  the  very  roots  of 
prog  i 

Both  Smith,  however,  and  the  English  Enlightenment  with 
him.  tacitly  presuppose  the  particular  conditions  of  their  time 
and  phu-e.  Their  system  professes  to  be  an  outcome  of  mere 
theory  and  therefore  universally  valid:  but  in  truth  it  is  largely 
the  product  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  England  at  that 
particular  period.  The  theory  is  constantly  accompanied  and 
supplemented  by  a  mental  picture,  the  picture  of  a  thriving 


4i4  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

nation  making  sure  progress  toward  increased  power  and  more 
widely  diffused  prosperity,  and  just  in  the  act  of  substituting 
machine-work  for  hand-labour.  Smith's  great  work  appeared 
in  1777.  In  1767,  Hargraves  invented  the  spinning- jenny.  In 
1769,  Watt  invented  the  steam-engine,  and  in  the  same  year  Ark- 
wright  invented  the  roller  spinning-frame  driven  by  water- 
power.  It  is  precisely  these  years  which  mark  the  commence- 
ment of  that  revolution  in  modern  labour  which  later  was  to 
change  the  whole  face  of  human  existence.  But  all  these  vast 
complications  lay  yet  undreamt  of  in  the  far  distance;  and  since 
Smith  presupposes  simpler  conditions,  a  milder  type  of  economic 
struggle,  and  a  more  leisurely  process  of  barter,  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible for  him  to  expect  nothing  but  good  from  the  free  movement 
of  natural  forces.  As  yet  there  was  no  rift  between  capital  and 
labour.  The  rending  shocks  and  displacements  occasioned  by 
the  ever-increasing  rate  of  traffic  were  still  quite  beyond  his  vision. 
He  has  no  fear,  for  instance,  of  any  dangers  that  might  arise 
from  the  importation  of  foreign  corn:  the  difficulties  of  trans- 
port are  so  great  that  even  in  times  of  scarcity  he  thinks  very 
little  would  be  imported.  In  all  these  respects  his  system  shows 
clearly  its  close  connection  with  a  specific  historical  setting.  It 
shares  the  general  error  of  the  Enlightenment,  which  is  to  mis- 
take a  demand  of  one  particular  age  for  a  need  of  all  time. 

But  it  is  as  a  general  policy  and  philosophy  of  life  that  Smith's 
system  is  least  satisfactory.  It  leaves  out  of  count  all  inward 
joy  in  work,  all  inward  growth  through  the  progress  of  work. 
Life  is  looked  at  from  the  outward  point  of  view,  and  is  gauged 
by  its  external  progress,  its  material  acquisitions  and  gains. 
Whatever  may  be  the  extent  to  which  free  movement  and  the 
full  development  of  individual  power  may  conduce  to  the 
qualities  of  independence  and  manliness,  yet  in  its  more  inward 
aspects  the  level  of  life  is  lowered  in  every  single  department — 
religion,  science  and  education.  There  is  a  vast  gulf  between 
true  inward  freedom  and  that  freedom  of  external  movement 
whose  greedy  rivalries  and  harsh  competitions  rivet  a  man's 
attention  on  his  environment,  keep  him  from  rising  above  its 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  415 

level,  and  make  him  the  docile  slave  of  the  public  interest.  Thus 
Adam  Smith's  work,  philosophically  considered,  has  very  im- 
portant limitations.  But,  as  a  typical  way  of  viewing  the  prob- 
lem of  human  life,  it  has  a  lasting  significance. 

The  French  Enlightenment,  in  all  its  main  features,  follows 
in  the  steps  of  the  English;  it  works  on  borrowed  capital.  But 
it  gives  to  the  borrowed  material  a  new  and  original  shape:  in 
the  first  place,  it  ignores  historical  conditions,  whereas  these 
had  a  marked  influence  over  English  thought,  now  tempering  its 
exuberance,  now  supplementing  its  deficiencies.  In  the  second 
place,  it  works  out  its  principles  more  abstractly  and  is  more 
rigidly  consistent  in  its  deductions.  At  the  same  time,  the  style 
of  presentation  is  fresher,  wittier,  more  piquant;  nowhere  else 
is  the  peculiar  versatility  and  impressionableness  of  the  French 
quite  so  brilliantly  displayed.  One  and  the  same  impulse  per- 
vades every  department  of  life,  the  desire,  namely,  to  let  every- 
thing explain  itself  according  to  its  own  nature.  Political  and 
historical  occurrences  are  divested  of  all  supernatural  elements. 
It  is  human  nature  which  is  to  give  the  key  to  all  political  devel- 
opments and  diversities  of  constitution.  A  rational  philosophy 
of  history  is  built  up  deliberately  in  opposition  to  the  traditional 
religious  interpretation  of  human  progress.  At  the  same  time 
literary  work  gains  immensely  in  power  of  expression  and  ar- 
tistic elegance.  It  is  to  France  that  the  Enlightenment  of  the 
eighteenth  century  owes  its  world-wide  influence.  But  despite  all 
its  freshness,  charm  and  grace,  it  became  poorer  and  poorer  in 
spiritual  substance,  and  more  and  more  definitely  individual- 
istic. Though  of  great  importance  for  its  own  day,  it  has  con- 
tributed little  of  lasting  worth  to  our  common  spiritual  treasury. 
Our  task  in  this  book,  therefore,  allows  us  to  touch  on  it  but 
lightly. 

It  is  a  period  hi  which  the  Subject  reaches  a  maximal  degree 
of  independence  and  practises  the  most  outspoken  criticism. 
All  rigid  distinctions  are  melted  down;  even  the  hardest,  dryest 
material  is  stirred  and  freshened,  but  at  the  same  time  broken  up. 


4i6  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

In  a  personality  like  Diderot's  the  serious  aspect  of  things  seems 
to  have  entirely  disappeared;  existence,  for  him,  is  but  a  grace- 
ful pastime;  a  slave  to  each  passing  impression,  he  runs  through 
one  phase  after  another,  and — a  true  epitome  of  his  age — 
presses  ever  further  in  the  path  of  negation.  In  the  case  of  other 
thinkers,  we  find  a  desire  for  systematic  unity  stronger  than  in 
any  one  of  the  English  school,  and  a  more  vigorous  attempt  to 
eliminate  all  hyperempirical  elements.  Condillac,  for  example, 
simplifies  the  empiricism  of  Locke  by  building  up  all  psychical 
life  from  sense-impressions,  and,  in  the  course  of  carefully  tracing 
the  individual  stages  of  this  process,  he  proffers  many  fine 
observations  and  fruitful  suggestions. — Helvetius  is  of  coarser 
stuff:  he  will  not  allow  that  an  original  instinct  of  benevolence 
has  anything  to  do  with  morality,  but  bases  all  action  on  the 
interest  of  the  individual,  rightly  understood  (I'interet  bien 
entendu).  Since  we  are  nothing  but  what  the  environment 
makes  us,  the  power  of  external  influences  becomes  overwhelm- 
ing, and  therefore,  too,  the  power  of  education,  so  that  the  final 
conclusion  is:  "Education  can  do  everything."  New  horizons 
dawn  upon  our  view  as  the  feelings  and  all  the  impulses  that  lead 
to  action  come  to  be  derived  from  physical  sensibility. — For 
cleverness,  wit  and  argumentative  ingenuity  there  is  no  one  like 
Voltaire.  Against  all  philosophical  systems,  nay,  more,  against 
any  kind  of  learned  discussion,  he  directs  the  most  biting  scepti- 
cism, and  finds  a  special  outlet  for  his  wit  in  Leibniz's  doctrine 
of  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  He  is  still  more  violent  in  his 
denunciation  of  all  dogmatic  and  authoritative  religion,  and  also 
of  superstition,  which  he  regards  as  the  worst  foe  of  the  human 
race.  At  the  same  time,  his  honest  conviction  drives  him  to 
reject  atheism,  but  the  religion  he  wants  is  a  religion  "with 
much  morality  in  it  and  very  little  dogma";  and  by  "moral"  he 
means  that  which  conduces  to  the  welfare  of  society  as  it  hap- 
pens to  be  constituted  for  the  time  being.  So,  though  he  dis- 
tinctly recognises  the  value  of  morality  in  itself,  yet  his  exposi- 
tion of  it  reveals  a  relativity  which  everywhere  introduces  change 
and  flux.  Voltaire's  greatest  enthusiasm  is  for  toleration,  from 


THE  RISE   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  417 

which  he  expects  the  only  peace  that  man  can  hope  for.  Taken 
all  in  all,  the  Enlightenment  in  France  stirred  and  moved  hu- 
manity to  an  incalculable  extent,  nor  was  its  influence  by  any 
means  exhausted  in  its  own  day.  Only  later  did  it  begin  to  affect 
other  nationalities,  and  in  our  own  land  it  still  exercises  an  im- 
mense power. 

Germany  was  the  last  to  participate  in  the  work  of  the  En- 
lightenment. Here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  the  ground  was 
cumbered  with  useless  survivals,  and  Germany  entered  upon  the 
task  of  removing  them  with  much  more  gravity  and  seriousness 
than  had  been  shown  in  France,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a 
manifest  desire  to  save  and  secure  the  good  elements  while  sift- 
ing and  weeding  out  the  worthless.  German  life,  therefore,  has 
been  spared  any  violent  catastrophes.  But  with  its  greater 
sobriety,  it  is  at  the  same  time  much  tamer  and  more  bourgeois. 
There  is  lacking,  not  only  the  easy  versatility,  but  also,  for  the 
most  part,  the  fine  taste  and  the  sparkling  wit  of  the  French. 
The  leading  spirit  of  the  German  Enlightenment  is  Christian 
Wolff  (1679-1754),  a  man  of  great  renown  in  his  own  day.  His 
merit  is  that  he  systematically  covered  the  whole  ground  along 
the  lines  prescribed  by  the  Enlightenment  and  presented  his 
results  in  a  form  intelligible  to  every  one.  He  produces  a  kind 
of  encyclopaedia  of  modern  knowledge :  with  the  most  tenacious 
perseverance  he  develops  the  main  ideas  into  their  minutest 
ramifications,  forms  a  well-organised  system  of  concepts,  and 
creates  a  German  vocabulary  for  their  expression.  At  the  same 
time  he  defends  his  convictions  right  manfully  against  powerful 
opponents.  Moreover,  it  is  largely  his  influence  which  has 
brought  the  German  universities  from  a  mediaeval  into  a  modern 
atmosphere  of  thought,  and  has  thus  paved  the  way  for  the  im- 
portant position  which  they  now  hold  in  the  spiritual  life  of 
Germany.  But  he  can  only  be  considered  great  from  the  stand- 
point of  his  own  age  and  in  close  relation  to  it.  When  once  we 
take  him  out  of  the  context  of  his  time,  with  its  ideals  of  sobriety 
and  clearness,  we  find  his  tasteless  circumlocutions  and  self- 


4i8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

conscious  pedantry  altogether  intolerable.  It  was  imperative 
that  the  German  Enlightenment  should  free  itself  from  such 
pedantic  narrowness,  and  in  the  process,  marked  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Lessing,  it  reached  a  particularly  high  level.  Lessing's 
ideas  are  in  the  main  those  of  Leibniz,  but  they  have  been  clari- 
fied and  rejuvenated,  and  bear  throughout  the  impress  of  a  strong 
personality  full  of  youthful  freshness  and  joy.  At  the  same  time 
the  language  in  which  they  are  expressed  has  been  polished  till  it 
is  clear  as  crystal,  so  that  the  ideas  are  far  more  intelligible  and 
effective.  Freed  from  musty  pedantry,  they  have  power  to  stir 
the  whole  being  and  help  forward  a  life  that  is  universal.  And 
this  power  is  the  greater  in  that  a  strong  sense  of  truth  perme- 
ates Lessing's  work,  an  attitude  of  inexorable  opposition  to  all 
shams.  Moreover,  in  several  important  points  he  develops  in  a 
very  forcible  way  the  ideas  which  he  has  taken  over.  The  uni- 
versal nature  of  the  individual  is  more  clearly  brought  out,  and 
his  superiority  to  the  social  environment.  The  connection  be- 
tween God  and  the  world  is  depicted  as  more  intimate  and  in- 
ward. But,  above  all,  fresh  light  is  thrown  on  the  relationship 
of  reason  and  history,  and  a  way  thus  prepared  for  movements 
of  great  importance,  more  especially  in  the  sphere  of  religion. 
According  to  Lessing,  our  ultimate  convictions  cannot  possibly 
rest  on  an  historical  basis:  "accidental  truths  of  history  can 
never  be  the  proof  of  necessary  truths  of  reason,"  "accidental," 
like  "empirical,"  being  used  here  in  the  sense  of  "actual." 
Thus  Lessing  is  the  most  convinced  opponent  of  all  rigid  ortho- 
doxy. But  he  goes  far  beyond  the  ordinary  level  of  the  Enlight- 
enment in  his  endeavour  to  discover  a  reason  in  all  historical 
conditions,  nay,  more,  to  understand  the  whole  process  of  his- 
tory as  man's  education  in  reason.  This  induces  him  to  enter 
sympathetically  into  all  the  manifold  forms  of  tradition,  and 
never  altogether  to  reject  anything  which  opens  up  new  prospects 
and  new  problems.  It  is  along  this  path  that  the  nineteenth 
century  has  reached  its  most  striking  results,  and  thus  Lessing 
constitutes  the  most  important  link  between  the  older  and  the 
newer  way  of  thought. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  419 

C.  THE  BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT 
AND  THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS 

We  have  spoken  of  the  Enlightenment  as  a  leading  factor  in 
the  great  modern  movement  which  aims  at  opening  up  the 
whole  realm  of  reality  and  pouring  its  riches  into  the  life  of 
man.  Its  distinctive  contribution  was  the  ruthless  dissection  of 
first  impressions,  the  clear  distinction  between  mind  and  nature, 
the  apprehension  of  the  smallest  elements  as  alive;  in  a  word, 
the  systematic  reconstruction  of  the  given,  based  on  a  thorough- 
going analysis  and  involving  a  fundamental  transformation  of 
primitive  material.  With  the  enrichment  of  thought  went  also 
an  enrichment  of  life.  Strenuous  toil  increased  man's  control 
over  nature  as  over  himself.  The  accurate  understanding  of 
nature  was  crowned  by  triumphs  of  technical  achievement.  In 
the  world  of  politics  and  of  economics,  the  free  play  given  to  the 
exercise  of  individual  powers  was  at  the  same  time  a  challenge 
to  greater  independence  of  action.  And  in  the  more  general  con- 
duct of  life,  the  result  of  starting  from  the  individual  was  to  give 
an  impetus  toward  greater  freedom,  freshness  and  activity — as 
is  clearly  shown  in  the  spheres  alike  of  religion,  morality  and 
education. 

In  all  these  respects  the  Enlightenment  has  left  an  indelible 
record  in  the  history  of  humanity.  It  is  a  stage  which  cannot 
possibly  be  omitted;  he  who  wishes  to  get  beyond  it  yet  dare  not 
ignore  it.  But  its  very  strength  betrays  its  one-sidedness  and  its 
weakness.  The  reluctance  to  synthesise,  the  inward  separation 
of  man  from  the  universe,  the  exaggerated  value  attached  to 
knowledge,  the  subtle  worship  of  the  minute  with  its  consequent 
dangerous  optimism,  the  limitation  of  utilitarian  ideals — all  this 
was  bound  to  reveal  itself  sooner  or  later  by  that  process  through 
which  the  limitations  of  human  ideals  are  usually  revealed  in  the 
course  of  the  world's  development,  the  process,  namely,  of  their 
own  realisation.  The  very  unfolding  of  a  movement  forces  its 
inherent  elements  of  negation  and  narrowness  to  become  ex- 


420  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

plicit.  In  proportion  as  the  great  impulses  which  set  it  going 
become  merged  and  lost  in  the  mediocrity  of  ordinary  life,  the 
weaknesses  are  ever  more  and  more  exposed,  till  at  last  a  revo- 
lution ensues  and  every  one  rejects  and  denies  that  which  for- 
merly inspired  and  dominated  all.  It  is  only  at  a  later  period 
that  a  balance  of  judgment  can  reassert  itself.  The  continuance 
of  the  dispute  about  the  merits  of  the  Enlightenment  shows 
clearly  that  such  a  period  has  not  yet  arrived,  and  that  despite  all 
reactions  and  counter-movements,  the  Enlightenment  is  still  a 
force  to  be  reckoned  with. 

I.  REACTIONS  AGAINST  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  IN  THE 
EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 

(a)  Hume 

*Hume  (1711-1776)  shows  a  way  of  escape  from  a  serious  in- 
consistency of  the  English  Enlightenment.  It  professes  to  take 
its  stand  entirely  on  experience  and  thence  derive  not  only  all 
knowledge  but  also  all  rules  for  the  guidance  of  life.  But  as  a 
matter  of  fact  it  supplements  experience  by  drawing  largely 
upon  man's  spiritual  capacity;  only  it  so  confuses  the  two 
sources  that  it  becomes  difficult  to  distinguish  clearly  between 
them,  as  when  the  theory  of  knowledge,  for  instance,  treats  the 
fundamental  laws  of  thought — causality,  in  particular — as  de- 
rived from  things.  In  the  practical  direction  we  have  a  still  more 
striking  example:  the  free  personality  outgrows  the  limitations 
of  experience,  and  in  politics,  ethics  and  religion,  human  nature 
becomes  intellectualised  and  idealised  as  it  has  no  right  to  be  on 
the  assumptions  of  the  system.  Even  in  the  concept  of  nature 
itself  there  lurks  an  ambiguity,  a  contradiction. 

It  is  Hume  who  clearly  penetrates  this  contradiction  and  with 
dogged  energy  works  out  the  conception  of  a  pure  experience, 
at  the  same  time  giving  his  own  very  original  and  well-defined 
interpretation  of  life  and  reality.  According  to  him,  there  can 
be  no  such  thing  as  causality,  in  the  sense  of  a  real  connection  of 
events.  For  a  connection,  as  the  old  Sceptics  were  shrewd 

*  See  Appendix  O. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  421 

enough  to  see,  cannot  possibly  take  place  through  the  mediacy 
of  things,  but  must  emanate  from  ourselves.  It  really  means 
nothing  more  than  a  customary  sequence  of  our  ideas  in  virtue 
of  which  similar  situations  lead  us  to  expect  a  similar  issue. 
Thus  causality,  from  being  a  cosmic  law,  becomes  merely  a 
psychical  phenomenon;  it  gives  no  information  whatsoever  as 
to  the  actual  nature  of  things.  Even  the  concept  of  "thing" 
can  no  longer  keep  its  former  value.  Bodies,  souls,  things  gen- 
erally, cannot  be  perceived,  nor  can  they  denote  anything  lying 
beyond  the  sphere  of  our  perception.  They  are  merely  the  prod- 
ucts and  supports  of  our  perception.  The  soul,  for  instance,  is 
"nothing  but  a  bundle  or  collection  of  different  perceptions, 
which  succeed  each  other  with  an  inconceivable  rapidity,  and 
are  in  a  perpetual  flux  and  movement."  Our  perceptions  are 
not  copies  of  a  reality  independent  of  them.  The  so-called 
degrees  of  reality  are  merely  degrees  of  an  indefinable  force  and 
liveliness  with  which  perceptions  strike  upon  the  mind.  Hence, 
in  last  resort,  all  our  convictions  are  reduced  to  feelings.  Mere 
argument  can  never  give  us  any  assurance  of  reality.  All  con- 
nections have  their  origin  in  some  necessity  of  feeling,  and  are, 
therefore,  matter  of  belief,  a  belief  which  naturally  has  nothing 
to  do  with  religious  belief  or  faith.  Now  feeling  develops  chiefly 
through  custom  and  use,  and  the  development  is  more  properly 
an  affair  of  the  sensitive  than  of  the  reflective  side  of  our  nature. 
The  process  of  perception  is  not  regulated  by  some  directing 
unity  and  is  not  the  product  of  conscious  purpose;  it  is  a  strictly 
necessary  process,  governed  by  simple  laws  of  association.  So 
everything  metaphysical  is  ruthlessly  expelled  and  empirical 
psychology  becomes  all  in  all. 

And  equally  in  the  other  departments  of  life,  reason  loses  her 
position  of  supremacy  and  the  forces  which  sway  us  are  shown 
to  be  thoroughly  irrational.  It  is  not  reasonable  deliberation, 
but  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain  which  impel  us  to  action.  The 
so-called  victory  of  reason  over  feeling  is  nothing  more  than  the 
victory  of  a  tranquil  feeling  over  a  violent  one.  Reason  cannot  of 
her  own  strength  either  help  or  hinder;  she  is  only  a  slave  of  the 


422  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

feelings.  Virtues  are  distinguished  from  vices  not  through  any 
theorising  reflection,  but  through  the  immediate  satisfaction  or 
dissatisfaction,  pleasure  or  displeasure,  which  the  contemplation 
of  them  calls  forth.  Thus  morality  becomes  a  question  of  taste. 
The  treatment  of  religion  also  is  entirely  revolutionised.  If  the 
Enlightenment  had  been  minded  to  base  it  upon  knowledge, 
Hume  seeks  to  root  it  in  human  emotion — in  hope,  and  still 
more,  in  fear.  Thus  he  becomes  the  subverter  of  English  Deism. 

In  this  way  the  whole  of  our  life  is  carried  back  on  to  a  sense- 
basis  which  is  firmly  adhered  to  in  the  building  up  of  social 
relations.  Everything  that  might  seem  to  claim  an  independent 
footing  is  either  forced  into  agreement  or  else  eliminated.  Thus 
the  whole  aspect  of  life  is  changed,  together  with  the  problem 
which  it  presents.  We  see  at  once  that  existence  becomes  some- 
thing quite  subjective  and  relative,  that  immediate  impression 
is  more  important  than  thought,  feeling  than  theory.  At  the 
same  time,  there  is  no  longer  any  motive  for  optimism.  There 
is  nothing  to  hinder  us  from  recognising  to  the  full  the  irrational 
element  in  human  action  and  procedure.  The  dark  and  painful 
side  of  life  is  powerless  to  move  or  disturb  us,  when  once  the 
relativity  of  things  has  been  fully  grasped.  Hume's  system  is 
not  incompatible  with  energetic  action  in  the  outside  world;  it 
allows  of  a.  vigorous  conflict  against  error  and  vain  imagining. 
But  at  the  heart  of  it  there  is  a  deep  passivity,  amounting  even 
to  icy  indifference. 

This  system  of  thought  gives  us  an  original  presentation  of 
reality,  worked  out  with  admirable  consistency.  The  Positiv- 
ism of  the  nineteenth  century,  with  all  its  resources  of  natural 
science,  technical  achievement  and  social  experience,  did  noth- 
ing more  than  develop  the  system  a  little  further,  without  always 
preserving  the  extreme  precision  of  Hume's  ideas.  It  is  no  small 
merit  to  have  thought  out  definitely  and  clearly  such  a  pure  and 
unadulterated  empiricism.  Whether  there  is  anything  final  in 
the  presentation,  whether  it  does  not  rather  itself  reveal  its  own 
limitations,  is  another  question.  In  any  case,  its  most  impor- 
tant result  was  the  stimulus  it  gave  to  the  thought  of  Kant. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  423 

(b)  Rousseau 

With  Rousseau  (1712-1778)  there  begins  the  full  reaction  of 
feeling  against  the  intellectualism  of  the  Enlightenment,  a  re- 
action which  finds  hi  him  its  most  extreme  form  of  expres- 
sion. For  though  Rousseau  was  no  great  philosopher,  nor  the 
originator  of  any  deep-laid  system,  yet  he  was  the  inspirer 
of  a  new  order  of  feeling,  and  initiated  a  movement  of  im- 
measurable import.  The  strength  of  his  influence  may  be 
partly  accounted  for  by  an  unsolved  contradiction  in  his  own 
nature.  He  is  poet  and  thinker  in  one :  as  thinker  he  inclines 
to  sober  logic;  as  poet,  to  dreamy  romanticism.  He  is  con- 
spicuous for  his  power  of  abstraction  and  inference.  Connected 
thought  is  as  easy  to  him  as  child's  play.  His  individual  sen- 
tences are  like  pearls  rolled  together  to  form  a  chain,  and  the 
whole  result  appeals  to  us  with  the  force  of  inexorable  consist- 
ency. From  this  point  of  view  his  work  appears  to  be  merely 
a  development  of  perfectly  obvious  premises.  Everything  is  so 
simple,  so  illuminating,  so  convincing,  that  it  seems  quite  im- 
possible to  contradict  it.  But  when  we  scrutinise  the  premises 
themselves  more  closely,  we  find  a  very  different  tendency  at 
work.  Here  there  is  something  immediate,  intuitive,  determined 
by  feeling.  A  subjective  influence  is  at  work  of  a  strongly  excit- 
able, emotional  kind,  passing  thence  into  things  themselves  and 
investing  them  with  an  inner  life,  with  tone  and  colour,  love  and 
hate,  feeling  and  passion.  But  so  gentle  is  the  transforming 
touch  which  makes  of  them  something  other,  better  and  more 
spiritual  than  they  are — so  deftly  is  the  magic  garment  of  the 
artistic  imagination  thrown  around  them,  that  the  poetry  is 
never  recognised  as  such.  The  new  blends  with  the  old  to  form 
an  apparently  complete  unity,  and,  despite  its  daring  originality, 
has  all  the  convincing  force  of  a  purely  logical  deduction.  It  is 
as  poet  rather  than  thinker  that  Rousseau  has  exercised  such 
compelling  and  dominating  power. 

The  form  of  presentation  corresponds  completely  with  this 
Inward  temper.  Clear  and  simple  as  it  is,  it  appears  to  be  just 


424  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  plainest  possible  expression  of  necessary  fact.  But  at  the 
same  time  it  is  eloquent  through  and  through  of  a  susceptible 
and  dreamy  nature.  It  voices  persuasively  all  its  moods  and 
impulses,  its  glowing  indignation  and  stormy  passion  no  less 
than  the  tuneful  vibrations  of  its  tenderest  feelings.  It  has,  in 
particular,  a  marvellous  power  of  giving  expression  to  moods 
only  half  avowed,  which  halt  poised  between  contradictory 
emotions.  It  lets  us  hear  the  overtones,  and  in  all  the  stress  and 
strain  of  active  life  fills  us  with  a  longing  for  better  things,  a 
desire  for  loneliness,  a  quiet  melancholy.  All  this  is  not  accom- 
plished without  art,  but  the  art  is  so  skilfully  concealed  that  it 
has  the  effect  of  perfect  naturalness. 

When  we  pass  to  the  content  of  his  work,  we  find  that  Rous- 
seau for  the  first  time  discloses  the  radical  spirit  of  the  Enlight- 
enment, which  had  so  long  been  concealed  by  an  optimistic  view 
of  the  relation  between  nature  and  society.  From  the  very  outset 
it  had  been  the  aim  of  the  Enlightenment  to  find  a  way  of  life 
that  was  reasonable  and  conformable  to  nature,  but  it  fancied 
that  the  goal  was  near  and  the  way  easy.  The  traditional  civilisa- 
tion, with  all  its  mistakes  and  errors,  did  not  seem  diametrically 
opposed  to  nature.  Only  let  the  husks  of  prejudice  and  super- 
stition be  stripped  off  and  surely  there  would  appear  forthwith 
a  solid  kernel  of  incontestable  worth.  To  the  men  of  the  Enlight- 
enment it  seemed  perfectly  possible,  without  any  noise  or  fuss 
but  simply  by  means  of  clear  insight,  honest  endeavour  and  dili- 
gent work,  to  make  reason  everywhere  supreme.  The  goal  they 
set  before  them  was  not  an  entirely  new  order  of  life  only  to  be 
obtained  through  painful  upheaval,  but  an  active  shifting  of 
existing  conditions,  a  purifying  and  freshening  of  life  as  it  is. 
Consequently,  there  is  no  unchaining  of  elemental  passions,  and 
society  is  not  shaken  to  its  foundations.  The  Enlightenment 
rather  starts  on  the  highest  level  of  social  life  and  thence  pene- 
trates slowly  but  surely  to  the  lower  strata.  By  quiet  progress 
everything  seems  to  be  levelled  upward  and  the  interests  of  all 
classes  to  be  more  and  more  identified.  Even  the  negative  move- 
ment assumes  a  moderate  and  beneficent  character.  Reform, 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  425 

not  Revolution,  is  the  watchword.  The  men  whose  youth  be- 
ionged  to  this  period,  as,  for  example,  Goethe,  never  felt  them- 
selves really  at  home  in  the  political  and  social  atmosphere  of  the 
later  epoch. 

It  is  this  later  epoch  which  begins  with  Rousseau.  With  vivid 
distinctness  he  shows  up  the  gulf  which  exists  between  the 
natural  conditions  demanded  by  reason  and  the  actualities  of 
our  social  environment.  It  is  not  merely  that  the  latter  is  incom- 
plete and  defective.  The  whole  spirit  of  it  is  contrary  to  reason ; 
it  is  rotten  to  the  core.  Thus  Rousseau's  accusations  are  not 
directed  against  any  particular  faults  and  flaws,  but  rather 
against  the  whole  structure  of  a  civilisation  which  is  partly  tra- 
ditional, partly  social.  The  ideal  of  simplicity,  immediacy,  truth 
to  nature,  which  the  English  representatives  of  the  Enlighten- 
ment had  thought  it  possible  to  realise  even  in  society,  is  now 
seen  to  be  really  hostile  to  society  and  engaged  in  a  life-and- 
death  struggle  with  it.  The  discerning  toleration  and  good 
feeling  of  the  earlier  time  are  laid  aside,  and  the  sharp 
contrast  of  truth  and  semblance  awakens  the  fiercest  passion. 
No  longer  can  one  man  stand  sponsor  for  another,  but  each  is 
summoned  to  co-operate,  each  must  win  happiness  and  truth 
for  himself. 

This  view  entirely  changes  the  value  of  society  for  the  indi- 
vidual. So  far  the  Enlightenment  had  seen  in  society  nothing 
but  good.  The  social  condition  seemed  to  be  the  natural  out- 
growth of  our  rational  nature  and  to  be  immeasurably  helpful 
to  the  individual.  Under  the  protection  of  law,  freedom  seemed 
to  have  a  much  better  chance  than  could  possibly  be  afforded 
it  by  the  unbridled  liberty  of  a  state  of  nature.  But  now  the 
other  side  of  the  picture  is  disclosed.  Society,  enslaving  as 
it  does  the  individual  to  his  environment,  is  felt  to  be  a  seri- 
ous menace  to  the  happy  and  harmonious  development  of  his 
powers. 

Civilisation  makes  a  man  weak  and  insincere,  and  distracts 
his  energies.  Its  sole  criterion  of  worth  is  outward  performance. 
Hence,  through  its  influence,  a  man  is  alienated  from  his  own 


426  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

true  nature,  diverted  from  his  own  individuality,  and  all  his 
thought  and  reflection  is  made  to  depend  on  the  judgment  of 
others.  To  secure  an  outward  effect  it  is  unnecessary  to  go  be- 
yond seeming:  so  hypocrisy  continually  gains  ground  and  fal- 
sifies even  the  inmost  nature  of  the  soul.  There  is  no  room  left 
for  strong  feeling  and  energetic  willing,  but  every  emotion  is 
toned  down  to  the  dead  level  of  social  requirement;  there  is  no 
chance  for  the  development  of -an  independent  individuality; 
uniformity  is  imposed  upon  all.  A  man  does  not  ask  whether  he 
himself  is  pleased  with  what  he  does,  but  only  whether  other 
people  approve.  "No  one  dares  to  be  himself."  "We  must  do 
what  others  do,"  is  the  ruling  maxim  of  wisdom.  "This  is 
usual,  that  is  not  usual,"  is  the  ultimate  ground  of  decision. 
Thus  we  are  estranged  from  ourselves.  Our  desire  is  no  longer 
focussed  on  what  is  near  and  simple,  but  on  the  distant  and  the 
complex,  and  it  becomes  faint  and  weak  in  proportion  to  the 
breadth  of  the  area  over  which  it  is  dissipated.  We  trouble  our- 
selves about  many  things  till  "our  individuality  is  only  the  small- 
est part  of  us.  Every  man  makes  himself,  so  to  speak,  commen- 
.surate  with  the  whole  wide  world  and  has  all  this  vast  area  of 
sensibility  to  pain.  Can  we  wonder  that  our  afflictions  multiply 
when  we  have  so  many  vulnerable  spots?"  We  look  abroad, 
but  our  own  home  is  strange  to  us  and  our  nearest  neighbours  of 
no  concern.  "Many  a  philosopher  loves  the  Tartars,  that  he 
may  not  have  to  love  his  neighbours." 

Conditions  of  this  kind  cannot  produce  strong  action  and 
manly  character.  They  are,  moreover,  fatal  to  our  happiness. 
Happiness  for  a  man  means  not  so  much  great  enjoyment  as  little 
suffering.  Now  our  suffering  increases  in  proportion  as  the  gulf 
widens  between  our  wishes  and  our  capacity.  To  make  this  gulf 
less  wide,  to  set  before  ourselves  goals  that  are  attainable,  is  the 
path  of  our  true  wisdom.  But  social  life  takes  the  exactly  oppo- 
site course:  it  entangles  us  in  the  most  distant  concerns,  excites 
impossible  desires,  leaves  us  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  outside 
things. 

Life  consequently  becomes  wretched,  devoid  of  sincerity  and 


BREAKING-tTP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  427 

independence.  The  weeds  of  conventionalism  choke  everything 
that  is  genuinely  natural  and  human.  And  when  at  last  die 
desire  arises  to  return  to  die  simplicity  and  innocence  of  nature, 
to  live  a  stronger  and  a  happier  life,  it  finds  itself  in  utter  incom- 
patibility with  the  existing  social  conditions.  The  artificial 
structure  must  be  razed  to  the  ground  and  a  wholly  new 
one  set  in  its  place.  Nature  pure  and  undefikd  is  to  be 
its  motto.  Nature  must  develop  in  perfect  freedom  without 
any  interference  or  aid  from  us.  AH  life  must  be  grounded  on 
simple  human  feelings,  and  so  remain  "natural"  through  all 
its  manifold  developments.  Here  we  have  a  stirring  appeal,  a 
demand  for  nothing  less  than  a  complete  renewal  of  existing 
conditions. 

This  is  the  very  soul  of  Rousseau's  endeavour,  but  it  is  just 
here  that  the  most  serious  complications  arise.  His  negative 
position  is  quite  dear,  and  so  long  as  he  keeps  to  it  he  is  perfectly 
sure  of  himself;  but  when  he  turns  to  constructive  work,  his 
meaning  is  no  longer  so  certain.  What  does  he  understand  by 
"nature"  and  in  what  way  does  he  think  we  can  reach  it?  It 
can  only  mean  for  him  the  original  condition  of  life,  that  which 
remains  when  we  strip  off  all  the  disguises  and  shams  of  civilisa- 
tion. But  there  is  no  clear  and  precise  picture  of  what  such  a 
condition  would  be:  it  is  merely  an  impressionist  sketch  of  a  very 
idealising  kind.  Nature  is  invested  with  a  romantic  charm. 
Plainness  and  simplicity  are  transfigured  into  something  pure 
and  noble.  In  striking  contrast  to  his  unsparing  criticism  of 
society,  Rousseau  has  a  sentimental  faith  in  a  natural  unspoilt 
goodness  of  the  individual  "Everything  good  we  can  educe 
from  beautiful  souls  by  trust  and  frankness."  The  saying  goes 
back  to  Plato,  but  it  was  Rousseau  who  first  gave  it  its  vogue. 
Also,  from  the  intellectual  point  of  view,  Rousseau's  natural 
man  is  anything  but  the  undeveloped  product  of  nature.  He  is 
the  result  of  centuries  of  civilisation,  from  which  he  deliberately 
turns  away  to  come  back  upon  himself.  Here  we  have  to  do 
with  the  finest  flower  of  civilisation,  a  human  being  absolved 
from  harsh  necessity  of  toil  and  gently  restored  to  nature's  em- 


428  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

brace.  It  is  this  romantic  transfiguration  of  nature  which 
makes  Rousseau  expect  a  higher  standard  of  worth  and  purity 
from  the  common  people  who  live  simply  and  constitute  the 
great  mass  of  the  nation.  External  nature  also,  undisturbed  by 
the  rush  and  hurry  of  man,  is  looked  upon  as  a  kingdom  of 
truth  and  peace. 

Rousseau,  then,  never  seriously  contemplates  shaking  off  civi- 
lisation and  going  back  to  a  crudely  primitive  nature.  What  he 
desires  is  a  thorough  remodelling  of  civilised  conditions  so  that 
they  may  allow  of  individual  independence  and  simplicity  of 
life.  He  wants  a  new  society  that  is  more  in  touch  with  nature; 
he  wants  a  rejuvenation  of  our  whole  existence.  This  line  of 
thought  obviously  tends  again  in  the  direction  of  the  older  En- 
lightenment, but  from  this  it  is  distinguished  by  the  fact  that 
Rousseau's  criticism  applies  not  to  a  few  detached  phases  of  life 
but  to  the  whole  of  it,  and  that  it  is  the  result  not  of  reasoned 
reflection  but  of  immediate  feeling.  Hence,  the  violence  of  the 
movement,  the  passionate  impulse  toward  revolution  and 
renewal. 

Its  main  concern  is  not  to  effect  this  or  that  particular  reform, 
but  to  change  the  individual  himself,  to  make  him  strong,  simple, 
and  happy,  not  dependent  on  other  men  and  things,  but  enjoy- 
ing the  true  freedom  of  an  independent,  healthy  nature,  "only 
desiring  that  which  he  can  do,  and  only  doing  that  which  pleases 
him,"  always  putting  forth  the  whole  of  his  energy.  Such  an 
individual  will  be  conscious  of  himself  as  a  human  being,  and 
not  primarily  as  a  member  of  some  particular  caste  or  order. 

The  main  requisite  for  the  production  of  such  people  is  a  new 
kind  of  education.  Education  should  not  aim  at  securing  external 
conformity  from  the  pupil  and  bringing  him  up  for  purposes  in 
which  he  has  no  native  interest.  It  must,  especially  at  the  outset, 
allow  nature  to  develop  freely,  and  follow  her  bidding  obediently 
(laissez  jaire  en  tout  la  nature)',  it  must  appeal  everywhere  to 
immediate  experience  and  encourage  the  exercise  of  the  indi- 
vidual's own  powers.  It  must  work  securely  from  near  to  far, 
from  simple  to  complex,  and  ground  even  its  moral  training  on 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  429 

the  simplest  natural  impulses.  By  these  methods  it  will  produce 
independent,  busy,  happy  men.  At  the  same  time,  the  work  of 
education  itself  is  lifted  on  to  a  higher  platform.  Its  business  is 
not  so  much  to  transmit  a  ready-made  culture  as  to  build  up  a 
new  one,  by  emphasising  the  simplest  elements  of  life.  Thus 
education  is  the  chief  agent  in  the  formation  of  a  new  humanity, 
and  is  put  upon  an  independent  footing  as  distinct  from  other 
departments  of  life. 

It  would,  however,  be  impossible  for  education  alone  to 
accomplish  this  task.  Fresh  life  must  also  be  infused  into  every 
other  department  by  a  strengthening  of  the  link  which  binds  it 
to  the  individual's  immediate  experience,  and  by  bringing  it 
into  closer  touch  with  nature.  This  is  Rousseau's  real  work. 
He  develops  the  antithesis  between  nature  and  society  through 
the  whole  range  of  human  existence,  everywhere  rousing  enthu- 
siasm or  hostility,  everywhere  compelling  man  to  decide  one 
way  or  the  other. 

Religion,  he  finds,  is  in  sore  need  of  reform.  As  customarily 
observed,  it  lacks  inwardness.  "The  belief  of  children  and  of 
a  good  many  grown-up  people  is  just  a  matter  of  geography. 
Will  they  be  rewarded  for  being  born  in  Rome  and  not  in  Mecca  ? 
When  a  child  says  that  it  believes  in  God,  it  does  not  really  be- 
lieve in  God,  but  rather  believes  Peter  or  James  who  tell  him 
that  there  is  something  called '  God.' "  Philosophical  speculation 
again  can  help  us  but  little.  The  really  important  factor  is  the 
inward  voice  of  feeling.  The  truths  of  which  it  furnishes  assur- 
ance are  fewer  and  simpler,  but  on  that  account  all  the  more 
fruitful.  It  gives  us  an  immediate  and  therefore  a  sure  hold 
upon  God,  Freedom  and  Immortality.  A  natural  religion  like 
this  needs  no  learning;  all  honest  people  can  share  in  it.  Chris- 
tianity approaches  most  nearly  to  its  ideal,  that  is  to  say,  Christi- 
anity in  its  primitive  and  simple  form,  Christianity  as  conveyed 
to  us  in  the  lofty  and  attractive  personality  of  Jesus,  and  not  as 
interpreted  by  a  degenerate  civilisation. 

Art  also  stands  in  need  of  a  transformation.  A  false  and  luxu- 
rious civilisation  has  severed  it  from  nature  and  made  it  effemi- 


430  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

nate,  corrupt  and  untrue.  All  the  true  ideals  of  aesthetic  taste 
are  given  us  by  nature.  Luxury  and  bad  taste  go  hand  in  hand. 
The  perverted  art  of  modern  times  concerns  itself  only  with  grand 
people  and  far-away  things.  Comedy  does  not  draw  its  material 
from  the  people  at  large,  but  from  the  narrow  sphere  of  aristo- 
cratic life.  Tragedy  seeks  to  interest  the  Parisians  in  Sertorius 
and  Pompey.  And  is  it  not  also  a  pity  that  in  seasons  of  joy  and 
festivity  we  should  so  studiously  isolate  ourselves?  "Exclusive 
enjoyments  are  the  death  of  enjoyment.  The  true  pleasures  are 
those  which  we  share  with  the  people." 

Here,  too,  we  should  mention  the  revolution  effected  by  Rous- 
seau in  the  feeling  for  nature.  It  is  not  so  much  pleasure  and 
refreshment  that  he  seeks  in  nature  as  a  means  of  escape  from 
human  pettiness  into  a  purer  atmosphere.  Grace  and  propor- 
tion attract  him  less  than  power  and  vastness.  The  sentiment 
of  the  sublime  thrills  and  purifies  the  soul.  Hence,  springs  an 
emotion  of  a  new  kind — the  passion  for  mountains.  "There  our 
thoughts  attain  a  certain  grandeur  and  loftiness  corresponding 
to  those  physical  objects  which  inspire  our  emotion.  It  is  as 
though  in  rising  above  the  dwelling-place  of  man  we  left  behind 
all  low  and  earthly  feeling,  as  though  in  drawing  near  to  the 
spaces  of  ether,  the  spirit  caught  some  hint  of  their  inviolable 
purity."  Throughout,  the  feeling  for  nature  has  a  distinctly 
sentimental  character :  Everywhere  she  seems  to  breathe  forth 
purity  and  peace,  but  as  we  contemplate  her  calm  and  tran- 
quillity, a  feeling  of  melancholy  often  steals  over  us.  This 
tender,  dreamy,  rhapsodic  feeling  for  nature  is  well  exemplified 
in  the  descriptions  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva.  Here  we  have  the 
origin  of  a  conception  of  nature  which  is  at  once  romantic  and 
optimistic,  and  long  wielded  an  irresistible  influence. 

Rousseau's  politics  are  less  soft  and  sentimental.  Even  here 
there  is  indeed  no  lack  of  romanticism.  It  is  especially  apparent 
in  the  firm  belief  that  the  main  body  of  the  people  always  desire 
the  good,  though  they  do  not  always  see  where  it  lies,  a  belief 
which  is  an  essential  and  indispensable  part  of  Rousseau's  the- 
ory. But  when  we  follow  his  treatment  in  detail,  we  see  him 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  431 

throughout  as  the  abstract  logician  who  is  carrying  the  funda- 
mental ideas  of  the  Enlightenment  to  their  extreme  conse- 
quences. Not  only  does  every  right  originate  with  individuals, 
but  it  is  theirs  for  ever.  A  right  which  is  sanctioned  by  tradition 
must  give  way  before  the  eternal  rights  of  man :  as  soon  as  it 
comes  into  collision  with  these,  it  is  no  longer  a  right.  But 
should  the  individuals  agree  to  bear  the  social  yoke,  the  decision 
cannot  but  revolutionise  their  status  as  individuals.  The  union 
of  individual  wills  results  in  a  wider  Ego,  a  collective  body 
which  obtains  an  absolute  power  through  each  member's  ab- 
dication of  his  separate  rights.  There  is,  however,  one  in- 
dispensable condition  for  this  subordination  of  the  individual 
to  the  community,  and  that  is  that  within  the  community  all 
the  individuals  shall  enjoy  perfect  freedom  and  equality.  Their 
sovereignty  is  only  collective  and  it  is  impossible  for  them  to 
delegate  it  to  individual  persons.  Moreover,  one  man  cannot 
represent  another.  If  the  nation  becomes  so  large  that  it  can 
only  act  through  delegates,  the  delegate  must  not  be  considered 
as  representing  his  electors,  but  merely  as  bearing  a  mandate 
from  them.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  convey  their  will  and  inten- 
tion; he  must  not  give  expression  to  his  own  convictions.  The 
executive  must  be  entirely  dependent  on  the  power  that  makes 
the  laws.  This  is  quite  in  keeping  with  Rousseau's  general  ten- 
dency to  treat  political  life  as  first  and  foremost  an  institution 
for  applying  law,  and  to  look  upon  the  subsumption  of  a  par- 
ticular case  under  a  general  rule  as  the  main  business  of  politics 
— a  view  which  does  scant  justice  to  the  historical  and  personal 
element  in  political  life.  The  main  object  of  the  state  is  no  longer 
as  the  English  Enlightenment  conceived  it,  the  protection  of  par- 
ticular callings,  but  rather  the  welfare  of  the  whole.  That  this 
implies  a  strong,  almost  despotic,  oppression  of  individual  free- 
dom is  observable  even  in  Rousseau.  But  he  looks  upon  the 
judgment  of  the  people  or  majority  of  the  people  as  a  judgment 
of  God,  as  the  expression  of  an  Absolute  Reason.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  this  French  Radicalism  only  recognises  freedom  and 
equality  within  the  state;  it  knows  of  no  freedom  in  opposition 


432  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

to  it.  It  really  offers  a  classical  expression  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
state's  omnipotence,  clothed  though  it  be  in  a  democratic  garb. 
Rousseau's  optimism  is  strong  enough  to  silence  any  doubt  that 
may  arise  as  to  the  practicability  of  his  ideas;  it  is  assumed  that 
man  will  be  good  and  reasonable  as  soon  as  he  is  set  within  the 
new  dispensation. 

Briefly,  it  is  the  sharp  antithesis  between  their  pessimism  and 
their  optimism  which  gives  to  Rousseau's  political  doctrines  their 
abnormal  power  of  awakening  revolutionary  zeal.  For  the  bad, 
our  social  conventions  are  mainly  responsible;  the  good  is  sup- 
plied by  the  individual.  Left  to  follow  our  own  nature  we  might 
be  noble  and  happy;  it  is  mainly  the  perversions  of  our  social 
order  which  stand  in  our  way.  The  conclusion  is  not  far  to  seek. 
It  comes  in  the  form  of  a  demand;  the  obstacle  must  fall,  fall 
utterly.  It  is  the  emphasising  of  this  contrast  between  the  misery 
of  our  temporal  conditions  and  the  intrinsic  goodness  of  human 
nature  that  has  made  Rousseau  the  apostle  of  the  Revolution. 

A  criticism  of  Rousseau  is  no  very  difficult  task.  To  show  up 
the  inadequacies  and  ambiguities  of  his  constructive  work,  we 
only  need  to  press  home  the  problems  involved  in  the  concept  of 
"nature."  It  is  easy  to  point  out  how  lightly  he  takes  up  the 
hypothesis  of  the  natural  goodness  of  mankind,  and  how  de- 
pendent he  is  in  this  respect  on  the  Enlightenment.  It  can  at 
the  same  time  be  shown  that  his  unmistakable  desire  for  spir- 
itual depth  and  a  self-dependent  inward  life  never  gets  beyond 
the  stage  of  ferment  and  unrest,  never  leads  to  tangible  results. 
Very  often  for  spiritual  content  we  are  offered  mere  subjective 
feeling.  Yet  none  the  less  Rousseau  holds  a  pre-eminently 
important  position.  The  profound  influence  he  exerted  on  the 
best  among  his  contemporaries  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  prevent 
us  from  valuing  him  too  lightly.  He  has  been  immeasurably 
helpful  in  the  work  of  quickening  and  rejuvenating  life.  His 
earnest  desire  for  a  regenerate  humanity  is  at  heart  ethical. 
However  unsatisfactory  his  solutions,  his  problems,  at  least,  are 
profoundly  significant,  and  we  cannot  but  admire  the  vigorous 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  433 

insistence  with  which  he  presented  them.  In  many  cases  he  sim- 
ply took  over  ideas  from  the  Enlightenment,  set  them  free  from 
their  scholastic  wrappings  and  converted  them  into  common 
property.  But  he  also  opened  up  quite  new  avenues  of  thought. 
From  him  we  may  date  the  movement  toward  immediacy  of 
feeling — the  sense  of  tension  and  conflict  between  individual 
and  society.  He  stands  on  the  dividing-line  between  two  epochs. 

The  revulsion  in  favour  of  feeling  which  succeeded  upon  the  in- 
tellectualism  of  the  Enlightenment  took  Germany  also  by  storm. 
The  younger  generation  was  feverishly  eager  to  escape  from  the 
bondage  of  social  convention  into  full  individual  freedom,  to 
pass  from  the  limitations  of  traditional  formulas  to  the  freshness 
of  immediate  impression  and  the  unfettered  development  of 
every  power,  to  turn  from  the  artificial  adornments  of  human 
existence  to  the  truth  and  simplicity  of  nature,  to  replace  cau- 
tious reflection  by  swift  intuition  and  bold  creation,  adhesion  to 
authoritative  standards  by  a  free  and  fertile  originality.  The 
individual  asserts  his  autonomy;  every  one  wants  to  be  uncom- 
mon. The  notion  of  genius  gains  currency,  and  becomes  a  fa- 
vourite subject  of  discussion.  He  who  has  none  is  put  down  as 
a  "philistine."  For  Lavater  (so  W.  von  Humboldt  tells  us) 
every  one  passed  as  a  philistine  whose  work  though  it  possessed 
"right  ideas,  accurate  expression,  elegant  style,  yet  showed 
nothing  that  could  really  be  called  genius."  The  emancipation 
from  intellectualism  assumed  in  Germany  a  very  different  form 
from  that  which  it  had  taken  in  France.  It  did  not  shake  the 
foundations  of  state,  society  and  religion,  but  had  rather  a  lit- 
erary and  personal  character.  It  claimed  free  outlet  and  expres- 
sion for  individual  feeling  and  entirely  rejected  the  fashions  and 
tyrannies  of  social  life.  On  the  other  hand,  it  took  little  interest 
in  the  facts  of  politics  and  economics,  and  when  it  did  occupy 
itself  with  religion  it  was  not  in  order  to  submit  religion  to  any 
radical  criticism,  but  rather  to  release  it  from  intellectualism 
and  hand  it  over  to  feeling.  In  so  far  as  all  this  remained  merely 
a  negative  movement  it  had  no  inward  self-sufficiency  nor  any 


434  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

compensating  power  of  construction.  It  could  not  give  rise  to 
a  new  conception  of  life  and  the  world.  But  it  did  remove  hin- 
drances and  prepare  the  way  for  a  greater  movement  to  come. 
Without  this  season  of  storm  and  stress,  German  Idealism  and 
the  creations  of  its  genius  would  have  been  impossible. 

With  Herder  the  movement  assumes  a  more  settled,  less  turbu- 
lent character,  and  we  are  already  approaching  the  zenith  of  the 
classical  period.  He,  too,  repudiates  the  Enlightenment  and  has  a 
strong  leaning  toward  what  is  vital  and  intuitive,  toward  fresh- 
ness of  life  and  immediacy  of  feeling.  But  he  puts  the  movement 
upon  a  firmer  footing  and  gives  it  a  greater  solidity,  since  he  does 
not  rest  in  feeling  only,  but  penetrates  beyond  to  the  conception 
of  human  life  as  an  organic  whole.  In  the  harmonious  co-oper- 
ation of  every  power  he  sees  an  ideal  of  universal  brotherhood; 
moreover,  he  puts  the  individual  in  the  larger  setting  of  his  his- 
torical and  social  connections.  At  the  same  time,  his  heart 
goes  out  to  nature  and  he  longs  to  revive  the  conditions  and 
surroundings  which  are  natural  to  our  humanity.  Many  are  the 
links  that  are  forged  between  nature  and  spirit.  The  individual 
is  shown  to  be  related  to  the  race,  and  in  the  race  a  character- 
istic individuality  is  disclosed.  The  world  of  reality  is  in  con- 
stant flux,  and  all  progress  is  from  within.  Here  in  all  important 
features  we  have  the  way  prepared  for  the  romantic  writers  and 
the  historical  school.  It  is  true  that  Herder  is  content  with  mere 
outline  and  does  noj;  attempt  to  fill  in  details;  but  his  wonderful 
many-sidedness  and  assimilative  power,  and  more  especially  his 
capacity  to  see  things  as  a  whole,  have  been  in  the  highest  degree 
stimulating  and  suggestive.  Herder  is  an  indispensable  link  in 
the  chain  of  German  development. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  435 

H.  GERMAN  IDEALISM 
(a)  Kant 

(a)   GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

With  Kant  we  again  come  upon  a  great  thinker,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  all  thinkers.  The  approach  to  him  is  particularly 
difficult,  more  difficult  indeed  than  in  the  case  of  any  other 
philosopher.  This  difficulty  is  not  due  so  much  to  his  involved 
and  cumbersome  style — we  Germans  are  notoriously  well- 
accustomed  to  clumsiness  of  style — but  much  more  to  the  fact 
that  his  philosophy  is  in  sharp  contradiction  with  our  customary 
modes  of  thought,  and  calls  for  revolutionary  changes  in  both 
our  theory  and  our  practice  without  clearly  specifying  what  the 
new  systems  are  to  be.  Still  Kant  could  never  have  taken  such 
deep  hold  upon  men's  minds,  never  have  had  so  strong  an  influ- 
ence upon  man  as  man,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  his  life-work 
gives  expression  to  certain  simple  truths  which  appeal  to  every 
one.  Our  easiest  way  of  penetrating  to  these  truths  is  to  repre- 
sent to  ourselves  the  insistent,  underlying  needs  of  his  nature, 
needs  which  his  spiritual  self-preservation  required  him  to  make 
explicit.  For  this  is  the  motive-power  of  a  great  man's  life  and 
work :  he  is  possessed  with  a  belief,  with  a  profound  conviction 
which  demands  imperatively  something  that  his  environment 
cannot  give,  something  that  is  foreign — nay,  even  opposed — to 
the  thoughts  and  perceptions  of  the  world  into  which  he  has 
been  born.  The  inevitable  result  is  collision  and  conflict,  and 
the  self-centred  personality  can  only  be  victorious  in  so  far  as  it 
produces  a  new  world  answering  to  the  requirements  of  its  own 
nature.  The  struggle  and  the  final  triumph  furnish  us  with  a 
wonderful  drama.  Nowhere  do  we  find  a  more  clear  and  con- 
vincing proof  that  man  is  not  merely  the  product  of  his  environ- 
ment, not  merely  a  precipitate  of  his  social  atmosphere. 

Now  Kant's  mental  constitution  led  him  to  make  two  import- 
ant demands  which  seem  at  first  independent  of  each  other,  but 
which  his  system  brought  finally  into  very  close  alliance.  He 


436  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

demands  a  new  kind  of  knowledge  and  a  new  kind  of  morality. 
What  had  hitherto  passed  as  knowledge  seems  to  him  to  rest 
upon  a  very  insecure  foundation  and  to  drift  helplessly  between 
an  excessive  demand  upon  human  capacity  on  the  one  hand, 
and  on  the  other,  a  destructive  scepticism.  Morality,  likewise, 
as  ordinarily  conceived,  lacks  both  a  sure  foundation  and  a 
genuine  content.  Nevertheless,  Kant  is  absolutely  convinced 
that  a  true  knowledge  and  a  true  morality  are  perfectly  possible. 
A  belief  so  inwrought  in  our  nature,  so  inspiring  to  our  work, 
must  be  capable  of  being  fully  formulated  and  made  into  an 
inalienable  possession.  For  Kant,  this  problem  became  the  all- 
absorbing  occupation  of  his  life  and  a  motive  to  indefatigable 
industry.  But  the  greatest  triumph  he  achieved  was  to  show, 
by  means  of  a  radical  change  of  method,  that  the  two  problems 
had  but  one  solution.  The  new  view  allowed  of  no  quarrel  be- 
tween true  knowledge  and  true  morality,  but  made  it  clear  that 
each  required  the  assistance  of  the  other.  This,  however,  was  only 
rendered  possible  by  the  introduction  of  new  standards  and  new 
values,  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  old  Order,  and  the  clear  and 
confident  inception  of  a  New. 

($)    THE  CRITIQUE  OF    KNOWLEDGE  AND   THE    BREAK-UP 
OF  THE  OLD  INTELLECTUAL  ORDER 

All  knowledge  aims  at  truth,  but  whether  truth  is  in  any 
way  possible  to  man  has  become  a  matter  of  ever-growing  uncer- 
tainty. To  primitive  thought  and  the  primitive  science  which 
accompanied  it,  truth  was  merely  the  correspondence  of  our 
ideas  with  a  reality  outside  them.  Such  a  correspondence  pre- 
sented no  difficulties  so  long  as  no  gulf  had  as  yet  opened  between 
the  world  and  the  soul,  so  long  as  the  world  was  regarded  as  alive 
and  the  soul  as  essentially  related  to  material  things.  Modern 
thought,  however,  has  put  an  end  to  that  immediate  connection; 
by  separating  soul  and  world  and  bringing  them  into  sharp  an- 
tithesis it  has  made  the  old  idea  of  truth  untenable.  The  thinkers 
of  the  Enlightenment  had  not  failed  to  see  this;  but  it  was  Kant 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  437 

who  first  showed  clearly  and  forcefully  that  to  wish  to  know  a 
thing  as  it  is  independently  of  us  is  arrant  absurdity.  For  things 
in  the  process  of  becoming  known  to  us  must  inevitably  change 
their  character.  And  even  if  the  object  did  correspond  to 
our  image  of  it,  how  could  we  be  aware  of  the  fact,  since  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  put  ourselves  in  a  third  position  outside 
both  object  and  image?  Moreover,  how,  on  this  view,  should 
we  find  a  place  for  the  attributes  of  universal  validity  and  neces- 
sity, without  which  there  is  no  true  knowledge  ?  We  should  have 
to  give  up  all  hope  of  such  knowledge  if  our  ideas  had  to  con- 
form to  objects  outside  us. 

But  there  is  also  another  possibility,  and  it  is  the  rigorously 
consistent  working-out  of  this  possibility  with  all  its  various  impli- 
cations that  constitutes  Kant's  greatest  achievement.  Might  it 
not  be  possible,  he  asks,  that  instead  of  our  ideas  conforming  to 
things,  things  should  conform  to  our  ideas,  that  we  should  know 
things  only  in  so  far  as  they  enter  into  the  forms  of  our  thought 
and  intuition,  know  them  only  in  the  shape  given  to  them  by 
our  own  mental  constitution?  This  is  the  famous  revolution 
which  Kant  effected  and  which  he  himself  compared  to  the  vic- 
tory of  the  Copernican  over  the  Ptolemaic  conception  of  the 
universe.  Kant,  like  Copernkus,  transferred  the  centre  of  obser- 
vation from  the  observed  to  the  observer.  Truth  so  subjective 
in  origin  can  of  course  have  validity  only  for  the  Subject:  it  can 
only  be  true  for  man.  We  cannot  go  beyond  the  realm  of  our 
own  presentations,  i.  e.,  the  phenomenal  world.  Our  only 
chance  of  securing  truth  lies  in  restricting  ourselves  to  our  own 
sphere,  and  resigning  all  claim  to  a  knowledge  beyond  it.  The 
product  of  our  mental  activity  could  only  be  regarded  as  absolute 
truth  if,  in  knowing,  we  were  also  creating,  producing  reality 
through  the  very  movement  of  our  thought.  But  this  we  cannot 
do.  Human  thought,  in  order  to  know  anything,  must  have  an 
objective  stimulus  of  some  kind;  to  this  extent  it  is  always 
strictly  dependent  on  experience;  if  it  overstep  the  limits  of 
experience  and  assert  a  truth  in  which  experience  is  ignored,  it 
simply  falls  into  a  void.  To  put  it  in  another  way:  the  forms  of 


438  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

knowledge  have  a  subjective  origin,  but  the  matter  must  be  fur- 
nished from  outside.  Without  this  datum,  knowledge  is  impos- 
sible, but  what  we  make  out  of  the  datum  is  our  own  concern. 
We  do  not  find  a  universe  ready-made,  an  experience  already 
organised;  it  is  we  ourselves  who  must  shape  it  from  within. 
The  orderly  sequence  of  the  phenomenal  world,  which  we  speak 
of  as  nature,  we  ourselves  bring  into  it,  and  we  should  never 
have  been  able  to  find  it  there  if  we  had  not  put  it  there.  This 
helps  us  to  understand  the  proud  saying:  "The  understanding 
does  not  derive  its  laws  from  nature,  but  rather  imposes  them 
upon  nature." 

So  far  this  is  all  mere  assertion  which  still  lacks  proof.  The 
whole  of  the  "Critique  of  Pure  Reason"  is  occupied  with  fur- 
nishing this  proof.  Kant  shows,  step  by  step,  how  everything  that 
helps  us  to  give  unity  to  multiplicity  and  to  make  reality  coherent, 
originates  with  us  and  not  with  things,  has  its  source  not  without 
but  within.  The  proof  completely  revolutionised  the  traditional 
conception  of  reality.  For  the  fact  that  our  subjective  con- 
tributions had  been  attributed  to  things  as  their  own  properties, 
and  that  the  subjective  world  had  been  changed  into  a  realm  of 
objective  essences  existing  independently  of  the  subject,  had 
given  rise  to  endless  illusions  and  misconstructions  of  reality. 
Kant's  recognition  of  this  fact  results  in  a  most  fundamental 
change  of  values  throughout  the  whole  domain  of  knowledge. 
One  point  strengthens  and  supports  another.  From  learned, 
pedantic,  sometimes  wearisome  beginnings,  there  is  a  painfully 
cautious  advance,  step  by  step,  till  at  last  an  appeal  is  made  to 
the  whole  man  and  he  is  called  on  to  fashion  his  thought  and 
life  anew. 

Space  and  time  were  formerly  held  to  impose  themselves  upon 
us  as  given  forms  to  which  all  things  were  subject.  A  close 
scrutiny  of  their  content  and  the  manner  in  which  they  come  to 
be,  now  makes  it  clear  to  the  investigator  that  they  are  really 
furnished  by  man  himself,  that  they  are  nothing  more  than  sub- 
jective forms  of  intuition  through  which  we  order  our  impres- 
sions. We  do  not  take  over  these  forms  from  some  other  world, 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT    439 

but  within  them  we  fashion  a  world  of  our  own  which  is  valid 
only  for  us.  This  conclusion  seems  to  be  attested  with  quite 
peculiar  force  and  clearness  by  the  universal  validity  and  neces- 
sity of  mathematical  propositions  both  in  geometry  and  arith- 
metic, a  validity  which  could  not  have  an  external  origin.  Thus 
the  assumed  substantiality  of  the  sense-world  falls  to  the  ground, 
and  we  seem  to  have  lost  all  sure  anchorage. 

For  a  long  time  it  seemed  to  Kant  that  it  was  possible  from 
this  upheaval  of  our  sense-life  to  take  refuge  in  thought:  thought 
might  surely  open  up  a  valid  realm  of  truth.  But  later  on,  the  sub- 
jectivising  tendency  invaded  this  field  also.  •  Here,  too,  try  as  we 
may  to  press  forward,  we  can  never  overstep  the  limits  of  our 
own  sphere;  from  the  smallest  thing  to  the  greatest,  it  is  our 
own  thought  which  is  shaping  and  fashioning  that  which  once 
seemed  an  independent  datum,  an  inherent  quality  of  things 
themselves.  "The  understanding  is  essential  to  all  experience 
and  to  the  very  possibility  of  experience;  its  primary  function 
is  not  to  make  the  presentation  of  an  object  clear,  but  to  make  it 
possible."  The  concept  of  a  thing  is  framed  by  our  understand- 
ing, in  order  to  give  stability  and  unity  to  otherwise  disconnected 
impressions.  Moreover,  all  the  coherency  that  we  observe  in 
phenomena  is  our  own  work;  it  is  not  ordained  or  imparted 
from  without.  The  causal  connection,  in  particular,  as  Hume 
had  already  seen,  is  not  something  externally  given,  nor  yet  is  it, 
as  he  thought,  a  product  of  mere  association  and  habit;  it  is  a 
fundamental  law  of  our  mind,  without  which  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  us  ever  to  connect  phenomena  together  according  to 
any  fixed  and  universally  valid  laws.  Kant  proceeds  to  prove 
this  with  the  most  unwearying  care.  He  shows  that  it  is  through 
thought  that  impressions  which  otherwise  remain  vague  and 
formless  are  welded  into  experiences,  that  it  is  thought  and  not 
mere  sense  that  gives  us  a  coherent  reality;  and  in  this  proof  he 
furnishes  us  with  a  most  fundamental  refutation  of  materialism, 
since  materialism  holds  that  both  things  and  their  relations  are 
externally  given.  In  fact,  through  his  rigid  distinction  between 
what  is  palpable  to  sense  and  what  is  logically  convincing,  Kant 


440  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

sealed  the  fate  of  materialism,  showing  it  to  be  the  unscientific 
view  of  the  untrained  mind. 

So  far  we  have  been  moving  entirely  within  the  sphere  of 
experience.  But  experience,  no  matter  how  dependent  on  it  all 
our  human  knowledge  may  be,  cannot  constitute  the  ultimate 
boundary  of  our  thought.  It  seems  rather  as  though  our  reason 
possessed  the  power  to  drive  us  forcibly  beyond  it,  to  set  us  in 
opposition  to  it,  inciting  us  to  apprehend  it  as  a  whole,  and 
ascertain  its  ultimate  base.  Over  and  above  the  conditioned 
world  of  experience  we  cannot  help  seeking  for  something  that 
is  unconditioned.  But  though  this  impulse  undoubtedly  be- 
tokens an  incomparable  greatness  of  nature,  it  yet  lands  us  in 
the  most  serious  difficulties.  We  are  not  equal  to  the  task  from 
which  we  find  it  so  impossible  to  desist.  We  can  never  succeed 
in  winning  to  a  secure  stand-point  beyond  experience,  whence 
we  may  find  our  way  back  to  it.  Despite  the  overmastering 
impulse  to  pass  beyond  it,  we  are  thrown  back  on  it  again  and 
again,  till  at  last  we  are  bound  to  recognise  that  our  effort  to 
reach  ultimate  conclusions  must  always  be  limited  by  our  own 
reason,  and  that  we  have  no  right  to  take  the  subjective  neces- 
sity of  certain  connections  among  our  concepts  as  an  objective 
necessity  in  the  connections  of  things  in  themselves. 

This  conviction,  however,  is  bound  to  have  a  profoundly  dis- 
turbing effect,  since  the  endeavour  to  reach  a  unifying  principle 
and  ultimate  settlement  concerns  just  those  questions  which  are 
most  vital  to  man :  the  problems  of  God,  Soul,  and  the  Universe. 
We  cannot  understand  our  psychical  life  without  some  unifying 
centre  to  which  we  may  refer  all  its  varied  experiences;  it  was 
from  a  central  unity  of  this  kind  that  the  old  speculative  psy- 
chology used  to  construct  a  science  of  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
attributing  to  it  qualities  of  simplicity,  indestructibility,  and  so 
on.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  unifying  principle  must  be  within 
the  world  of  our  thought  and  experience,  and  therefore  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  nature  of  the  soul  is  for  ever  unanswerable;  unan- 
swerable, too,  the  other  question  as  to  whether  the  soul  can  pos- 
sibly exist  as  an  indestructible  unity  after  death.  Moreover,  we 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  441 

seek  to  combine  the  multiplicity  of  phenomena  into  a  coherent 
world-system,  and  to  throw  light  upon  the  constitution,  the 
fundamental  forces,  the  general  structure  of  this  system.  But 
in  the  process  we  fall  into  hopeless  contradictions;  every  asser- 
tion that  we  seek  to  make  is  at  once  confronted  with  an  equally 
forcible  negation.  Assertion  and  negation  are  each  strong 
enough  to  counteract  each  other,  but  neither  is  strong  enough 
to  establish  its  own  claim.  For  example,  if  we  think  of  the 
world  as  limited  in  space  and  time,  the  conception  is  too  small — 
too  great  if  we  think  of  it  as  unlimited :  in  either  case,  inadmis- 
sible. But  since  no  third  alternative  is  available,  we  clearly 
cannot  escape  the  inference  that  the  world  we  thus  picture  to 
ourselves  is  no  reality  existing  outside  us,  but  something  we 
have  been  attempting  to  construct  out  of  our  own  mental  re- 
sources, with  the  result  that  in  the  process  we  have  experienced 
the  clash  of  colliding  interests,  and  have  been  left  oscillating 
between  two  incompatible  conclusions.  Again,  in  regard  to  the 
most  ultimate  of  all  problems  of  this  kind,  the  idea  of  God,  we 
have  a  similar  experience.  If  there  is  no  ultimate,  self-contained 
Ground  of  all  Reality,  there  can  be  no  resting-place  for  thought; 
but  we  can  suppose  ourselves  to  have  obtained  an  objective 
proof  of  such  a  Being  only  through  surreptitiously  transforming 
subjective  impulses  into  objective  necessities,  and  making  a 
bold  leap  straight  from  the  idea  to  a  reality  existing  outside  it. 

Everything,  then,  combines  to  make  it  impossible  for  us  to 
transcend  the  sphere  of  our  own  thought  and  reach  a  knowledge 
of  the  real  nature  of  things  or  the  ultimate  grounds  of  reality. 
What  seemed  to  us  to  be  imparted  from  a  reality  beyond  us  is 
really  what  we  ourselves  have  put  into  a  world  which  baffles 
every  attempt  to  pass  beyond  it;  it  can  never  become  an  objec- 
tive truth  for  us. 

The  impression  first  made  upon  us  by  this  displacement  from 
the  objective  to  the  subjective  stand-point  is  of  necessity  dis- 
turbing and  disheartening.  For  it  was  clearly  the  consideration 
of  truths  as  entirely  independent  of  us  which  gave  them  their 
significance  and  value.  From  truth  in  the  old  sense  of  the  term 


442  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

we  are  now  completely  shut  out,  and  shut  out  for  ever.  No  ad- 
vance of  knowledge  can  effect  a  change  in  this  crucial  particular. 
The  sphere  of  individual  experience  may  become  wider  and 
wider,  but  we  can  never  get  beyond  it. 

It  is  true  that  we  also  gain  much  from  the  change.  The  Sub- 
ject cannot  give  form  and  consistency  to  a  world,  cannot  leave 
the  moorings  of  experience  and  reach  out  after  ultimate  grounds 
without  gaining  in  the  venture  a  peculiar  breadth  and  grandeur. 
The  sharp  distinction  of  form  from  matter,  and  the  exclusive 
assignment  of  form  to  the  soul,  leads  us  to  regard  the  soul  as  of 
a  much  finer  texture  than  had  hitherto  been  supposed.  Even 
its  apparently  simplest  operations  now  reveal  a  wealth  of  com- 
plex organisation.  Minute  observation  leads  us  to  recognise 
a  system  of  intricate  connections  where  once  there  was  thought 
to  be  only  a  point.  How  very  much  more,  for  example,  has  Kant 
taught  us  to  see  in  the  process  of  sense-perception !  Moreover, 
the  transference  of  all  agency  to  the  purely  psychical  domain 
helps  to  bring  out  more  clearly  the  peculiarities  and  distinctions 
of  the  psychical  life,  and  separate  them  more  sharply  from  each 
other.  Kant  is  especially  strong  in  his  discovery  of  qualitative 
differences  and  oppositions — very  different  in  this  respect  from 
Leibniz,  who  sought  to  arrange  all  manifoldness  in  a  continu- 
ously graduated  scale.  Thus  Kant  distinguishes  more  clearly 
than  any  one  before  him  between  sensibility  and  understanding, 
understanding  and  reason,  the  theoretical  and  the  practical 
reason,  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  jurisprudence  and  moral- 
ity. All  these  distinctions,  varying  from  great  to  trivial,  make 
our  view  of  reality  incomparably  richer,  more  living  and  more 
determinate. 

But  Kant  does  not  only  understand  how  to  make  distinctions; 
he  can  connect  together  the  results  of  his  analysis,  and  bring 
them  all  under  a  unifying  principle.  His  adoption  of  the  sub- 
jective stand-point  makes  this  task  incomparably  easier  than  it 
was  before.  For  it  is  only  when  that  which  was  once  regarded 
as  coming  from  without  is  seen  to  be  contributed  from  within 
that  all  the  possibilities  can  come  under  review  and  receive  a 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT   443 

systematic  and  exhaustive  treatment.  Comprehensive  totalities 
emerge — as,  for  example,  the  whole  of  experience — in  which 
each  individual  thing  has  its  especial  task  and  its  appointed 
place.  Apart  from  the  adoption  of  this  subjective  stand-point 
Kant's  thought-world  would  never  have  been  the  greatest 
constructive  system  which  the  history  of  philosophy  has 
known.  From  no  other  centre  can  the  whole  wealth  of 
reality  be  so  readily  transmuted  into  an  organised  system  of 
thought.  It  is  from  this  centre,  above  all  others,  that  the 
idea  of  system  has  developed  into  a  power  which  nothing  can 
resist. 

The  increased  emphasis  laid  on  the  part  played  by  the  sub- 
ject changes  also  the  aspect  of  the  subject  itself,  and  makes  of  it 
a  spiritual  nexus,  a  coherent,  complex  whole.  By  "subject" 
Kant  means  not  so  much  the  particular  individual  as  a  mental 
structure  common  to  all  individuals.  His  subjective  presenta- 
tion of  the  world  is  not  the  work  of  the  isolated  individual,  but 
of  mankind  as  a  whole.  Thus  it  is  characteristic  of  his  work 
generally  that  he  never  asks  how  the  individual  man  attains  to 
science,  morality,  etc.,  but  in  what  sense,  science,  morality,  etc., 
are  possibilities  of  our  mental  life,  and  what  capacities  and  sys- 
tematic connections  they  demand  and  reveal.  Thus  if  Kant 
closes  to  our  knowledge  the  world  of  things,  yet  he  sets  it  the 
new  task  of  investigating  the  faculty  wherewith  man  constructs 
his  own  world.  From  a  knowledge  of  the  world  and  a  search 
into  the  nature  of  things,  we  turn  to  the  self-knowledge  of  the 
human  mind  and  to  an  investigation  of  the  process  by  which  it 
builds  up  the  world  of  experience. 

Thus  Kant's  theory  of  knowledge  is  as  rich  in  suggestion  as  in 
achievement.  Still  the  fact  that  it  limits  man  to  a  separate 
sphere  of  his  own  would  prevent  us  from  ever  attaining  to  any- 
thing more  than  a  truth  purely  relative  to  man,  and  this  can 
never  be  the  truth  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  seek  and 
cannot  cease  from  seeking.  Thus  if  Kant's  work  had  closed  with 
his  "Critique  of  Knowledge,"  he  would  have  ranked  among  the 
predominantly  critical  thinkers.  This,  however,  it  does  not  da 


444  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Compared  with  his  whole  achievement,  the  Critique  is  a  mere 
propaedeutic  to  his  final  convictions  and  opens  up  to  us  the  do- 
main of  the  Practical  Reason. 

(7)   THE  MORAL  WORLD 

The  adoption  of  the  subjective  stand-point  which  is  the  funda- 
mental characteristic  of  Kant's  whole  philosophy  assumes,  in  his 
treatment  of  action,  an  aspect  quite  different  from  that  which  it 
wears  in  his  Theory  of  Knowledge.  In  the  latter  domain,  the 
activity  of  the  subject  is  dependent  upon  and  directed  toward 
an  inscrutable  world,  but  this  in  no  wise  precludes  the  existence 
of  another  domain  where  it  can  act  independently  and  finally 
produce  a  world  from  itself.  This  however,  it  can  only  do  in 
so  far  as  it  secures  its  independence  from  everything  external  and 
finds  its  main  problem  within  itself  alone.  There  can  then  be 
no  possibility  of  life  and  action  of  this  kind  being  realised 
through  the  pursuit  of  happiness;  for,  in  pursuing  after  happi- 
ness, man  is  referred  to  something  outside  himself  which  be- 
comes his  master;  it  is  only  experience  which  can  teach  us  what 
conduces  to  happiness.  In  order  to  be  independent,  "autono- 
mous," we  must  act  without  reference  to  any  subjective  ends. 
Action  must  find  its  guiding  principle  in  its  own  formal  nature. 

The  question  now  arises  whether  the  sphere  of  man's  activity 
reveals  any  such  autonomous  action,  and  it  is  answered  with  a 
confident  affirmative,  on  the  ground  that  the  moral  law,  the 
unconditional  ought,  the  idea  of  duty,  is  a  fact  of  our  experi- 
ence. The  essence  of  morality  is  that  it  demands  of  us  certain 
actions  and  sentiments  solely  for  their  own  sake  and  without  any 
regard  to  the  consequences  for  us.  The  moral  law  does  not 
speak  to  us  conditionally,  but  unconditionally,  as  a  "Categorical 
Imperative,"  and  the  fulfilment  of  its  demand  is  not  regarded 
as  a  special  merit,  but  as  a  simple  duty  and  obligation.  Implicit 
here,  however,  we  have  an  important  problem,  the  solution  of 
which  opens  up  a  new  world.  Whence  comes  this  law  which 
speaks  to  us  with  such  confident  authority?  If  it  were  a  com- 
mand imposed  from  without,  it  could  never  influence  our  wills 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  445 

and  claim  obedience  as  a  duty;  for  anything  that  comes  from 
without,  even  were  it  a  command  of  God  Himself,  must  depend 
for  its  justification  and  execution  on  some  consequence  external 
to  the  action,  must  excite  to  action  or  discourage  it  by  means  of 
reward  or  punishment.  But  this  would  destroy  it  as  a  moral 
good,  since  nothing  can  be  morally  good  that  is  not  pursued  for 
its  own  sake.  Thus  the  law  must  originate  within  us;  it  gives 
voice  to  our  own  rational  nature;  it  is  our  own  will  that  makes 
the  moral  command  into  a  duty.  This,  however,  sets  the  soul 
in  an  entirely  new  light.  It  gains  a  profundity  of  its  own,  and 
an  inner  gradation.  There  is  an  "intelligible"  nature  within  us 
which  appeals  to  our  empirical  self  as  an  Imperative,  but  as  an 
imperative  of  our  own  being,  as  a  self-realisation.  There  is  a 
rift  in  man's  own  nature:  he  is  at  once  too  great  and  too  small; 
small,  when  set  over  against  that  law  whose  stern  demands  his 
conduct  is  so  far  from  realising;  great,  immeasurably  great,  in 
so  far  as  he  co-operates  with  the  law,  recognises  in  it  his  inner- 
most will  and  being,  and  becomes  himself  the  law-giver  and 
the  part-founder  of  a  new  order.  It  is  in  the  light  of  such  a  con- 
text that  we  can  understand  the  well-known  words:  "There  are 
two  things  that  fill  my  mind,  the  oftener  and  longer  I  dwell  upon 
them,  with  ever-fresh  and  ever-growing  admiration  and  awe: 
the  starry  heavens  above  me  and  the  moral  law  within  me. 
Neither  is  veiled  in  mystery  or  lost  in  immensity  so  that  I  need 
to  seek  them  beyond  my  sphere  of  vision  and  merely  surmise 
that  they  are  there.  I  see  them  before  me  and  link  them  imme- 
diately with  the  consciousness  of  my  existence.  .  .  .  The  second 
begins  from  my  invisible  self,  my  personality,  and  exhibits  me 
in  a  world  which  has  true  infinity,  but  which  is  traceable  only 
by  the  understanding." 

The  moral  law,  however,  can  only  reach  this  height  by  rigidly 
respecting  its  own  independence  and  refusing  to  amalgamate 
with  any  alien  element.  Only  the  mere  form  of  the  law,  the 
universality  of  the  maxims,  must  control  our  action;  we  must 
act  in  such  a  way  that  the  maxim  we  follow  could  at  any  time 
be  erected  into  a  principle  of  universal  legislation,  and  that  our 


446  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

motives,  raised  to  the  status  of  universal  laws,  should  never  con- 
flict with  each  other.  We  must  act  out  of  mere  respect  for  the 
law,  as  vessels  and  instruments  of  the  law,  but  a  law  of  which 
we  are  the  law-givers.  It  is  only  consistent  that  Kant  should 
distinguish  clearly  between  moral  action  and  natural  inclina- 
tion; nay,  more,  that  he  should  make  action  contrary  to  incli- 
nation the  very  sign  and  token  of  a  dutiful  disposition.  This 
does  not  mean  that  he  pronounces  inclination  to  be  wrong,  but 
that  he  places  the  moral  law  far  above  it  as  something  essentially 
higher.  It  is  just  this  rigorous  conception  of  the  problem  of  life 
which  allows  us  to  think  so  highly  of  man  as  an  autonomous 
being.  "It  is  autonomy  which  gives  dignity  to  human  nature 
and  every  rational  being."  Autonomy,  and  not  mere  intellect, 
first  differentiates  man  from  the  animal;  "if  reason  in  man  is 
made  to  serve  the  same  ends  which  instinct  serves  in  animals, 
it  can  do  nothing  to  lift  its  possessor  above  the  merely  animal 
state."  At  the  same  time  we  have  a  clearer  and  more  precise 
elaboration  of  concepts  which  from  old  have  occupied  mankind, 
but  which  hitherto  have  lacked  the  coherency  given  to  them  by 
a  scientific  conviction — concepts  such  as  those  of  "personality" 
and  "character."  The  mere  capacity  to  think  is  not  sufficient 
to  constitute  personality;  there  must  also  be  the  capacity  for 
moral  responsibility,  and  this  implies  an  independence  of  all 
merely  natural  mechanism.  Character,  however,  is  neither 
"a  purely  natural  aptitude  nor  an  abiding  effect  produced  by 
habitual  action,  but  the  absolute  unity  of  the  inner  principle 
which  regulates  life's  changes." 

The  crucial  point  of  the  whole  position  lies  in  the  idea  of  free- 
dom, freedom  as  the  self-determination  of  the  rational  will,  as 
the  capacity  to  initiate  a  state  from  within.  It  is  the  presup- 
position of  all  morality;  as  certainly  as  morality  exists,  so  cer- 
tainly does  freedom  exist;  capacity  must  go  with  obligation. 
"You  can,  because  you  ought."  To  this  idea  of  freedom  the 
sequence  of  causal  phenomena  was  inexorably  opposed,  so  long 
at  least  as  this  sequence  was  supposed  to  be  a  law  inherent  in 
things  themselves.  The  "Critique  of  the  Reason"  showed, 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT   447 

however,  that  it  was  the  work  of  our  own  minds,  valid  only  for 
the  phenomenal  world,  and  allowing  plenty  of  room  for  another 
order  of  things  should  the  motives  for  postulating  such  an  order 
be  found  sufficiently  forcible.  Now  morality  furnishes  us  with 
such  motives,  so  that  freedom  becomes  the  fulcrum  of  Archimedes 
"at  which  the  reason  can  apply  a  lever."  From  the  starting- 
point  of  freedom  a  new  realm  opens  out  opposed  to  the  purely 
natural  domain.  Morality  no  longer  appears  as  a  product  within 
an  already  given  world,  but  as  the  making  of  a  new  world  with 
values  of  its  own,  not  dependent  on  experience  for  support, 
even  daring  to  face  direct  contradiction  from  experience.  For 
"in  the  contemplation  of  nature,  experience  gives  us  rules  ready 
to  hand  and  is  the  fount  of  truth;  in  regard  to  the  moral  laws, 
however,  experience  (alas!)  is  the  mother  of  illusion,  and  it  is 
extremely  undesirable  to  derive  the  norm  of  what  I  ought  to  do 
from  that  which  actually  is  done  or  to  let  this  fetter  my  action 
in  any  way."  So  morality,  untroubled  by  the  outside  world  and 
the  ways  and  works  of  men,  has  simply  to  follow  her  own  path, 
convinced  that  her  world  alone  contains  the  things  that  are 
really  good  and  make  life  worth  the  living.  "We  can  think  of 
nothing  anywhere  in  the  world — no,  nor  even  out  of  it — which 
can  be  considered  unreservedly  good,  except  alone  a  good  will." 
"All  good  that  is  not  grafted  on  to  a  morally  good  disposition  is 
nothing  but  illusion  and  wretchedness  glossed  over."  "  If  justice 
perishes,  then  it  is  no  longer  worth  while  for  man  to  live  upon 
the  earth."  Thus  moral  action  is  triumphantly  emancipated 
from  the  world  as  given,  securely  founded  in  itself,  made  entirely 
independent  of  external  results. 

This  valuation  of  the  moral  world  is  supported  by  the  con- 
viction that  here,  at  the  heart  of  things,  we  have  at  last  not 
merely  something  specifically  human  but  something  absolutely 
valid.  For  the  freedom  which  is  at  the  root  of  morality  is  not  a 
special  quality  of  man  as  man,  but  it  belongs  to  the  essence  of 
reason,  and  gives  access  to  an  absolute  truth  common  to  all 
rational  beings.  In  this  way  we  have  glimpses,  "however  weak 
our  vision,"  into  the  world  of  the  supersensual,  into  the  deepest 


448  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

abyss  of  reality.  Kant  finds  here  a  sure  answer  to  the  question 
as  to  the  ultimate  meaning  of  the  world :  it  cannot  be  other  than 
a  moral  meaning.  It  becomes  perfectly  clear  that  in  the  domain 
of  thought  Kant's  negation  issues  finally  in  an  affirmation  and 
is  subservient  to  it. 

But  even  in  this  bold  venture,  he  preserves  the  caution  and 
self-criticism  which  characterise  all  his  work.  The  ideas  devel- 
oped in  this  new  field  remain  fundamentally  different  from  all 
theoretical  doctrines;  they  are  always  based  upon  personal  con- 
viction and  presuppose  the  full  recognition  of  the  moral  law; 
they  are,  too,  not  so  much  a  matter  of  knowledge  as  of  faith, 
i.  e.,  a  faith  of  the  reason,  very  different  from  faith  of  an  ecclesi- 
astical or  historical  kind. 

So  much  for  the  idea  of  freedom,  the  fundamental  presup- 
position of  all  morality.  But  there  are  also  two  other  ideas 
which,  according  to  Kant,  are  the  necessary  outcome  of  morality 
— the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the  existence  of  God.  The 
moral  law  demands  a  strict  fulfilment,  a  completely  holy  life; 
and  this  is  an  altogether  insoluble  problem  for  the  individual 
man  within  the  confines  of  his  earthly  career.  Still,  we  could 
never  put  forth  our  whole  strength  in  the  endeavour  to  reach 
something  which  we  knew  to  be  absolutely  unattainable,  so  that 
our  action  needs  to  be  fortified  by  the  conviction  that  after  this 
brief  span  of  life  we  go  on  living  to  all  eternity.  Again,  the  nat- 
ural constitution  of  things  often  puts  a  wide  gulf  between  virtue 
and  happiness.  It  often  denies  to  the  deserver  of  happiness  the 
happiness  which  is  his  due.  And  yet  we  could  never  work 
whole-heartedly  for  the  realisation  of  the  good,  if  we  thought  it 
to  be  powerless  and  ineffective,  so  that  the  idea  of  the  good 
necessarily  gives  rise  to  the  demand  for  a  moral  order  superior 
to  the  natural,  and  therewith  for  an  All-powerful  moral  Being, 
namely,  God.  In  these  developments  Kant's  work  falls  short  of 
its  usual  level,  and  they  give  very  unsatisfactory  expression  to 
what  is  deepest  in  his  own  conviction.  Nowhere  more  than  here 
are  we  conscious  of  the  extent  to  which  the  prose  of  the  Enlight- 
enment still  cleaves  to  him. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  449 

The  morality  which  Kant  enforces  is  of  a  strong  and  manly 
type;  it  is  even  rigid  and  austere.  It  disdains  all  connection 
with  mere  feeling  and  considers  itself  pure  only  when  the  Idea 
of  Reason  acts  directly  on  the  will.  The  virtues,  again,  which 
Kant  holds  as  especially  binding  are  of  a  similarly  severe  kind : 
they  are  veracity  and  justice,  veracity  concerning  chiefly  the 
actor  himself  and  justice  his  relation  to  his  fellow-men.  We 
must  practice  veracity  not  primarily  to  others,  but  to  ourselves. 
Everywhere  it  concerns  us  to  be  perfectly  open  with  ourselves, 
to  regulate  our  action  by  our  own  conviction  and  independent 
decision,  and  not  by  reference  to  fluctuating  opinions  and  exter- 
nal authority.  Even  the  most  painful  conscientiousness  may  not 
succeed  in  guarding  us  from  error,  but  its  moral  value  is  not 
thereby  impaired.  "  It  may  well  be  that  not  everything  which  a 
man  holds  for  true  is  true  (for  he  may  be  mistaken),  but  in  all 
that  he  says  he  must  be  veracious."  As  for  the  mutual  rela- 
tionships of  men,  they  must  be  shaped  in  accordance  with  the 
idea  of  justice.  Each  man,  as  a  member  of  the  Order  of  Reason, 
has  an  inalienable  independence  and  the  moral  dignity  of  being 
an  end  in  himself;  we  must,  accordingly,  show  mutual  respect 
and  never  treat  each  other  as  mere  means.  This  requirement 
entails  distinctive  political  and  social  arrangements  in  which  we 
can  trace  some  influence  of  the  English  ideal  of  a  society  of  free 
citizens.  But  the  German  conception  goes  much  deeper  than 
the  English,  since  the  doctrine  which  found  little  favour  in  Eng- 
land, the  doctrine,  viz.,  that  our  morally  rational  nature  tran- 
scends experience,  is  now  clearly  formulated  and  developed, 
and  society,  moreover,  finds  its  supreme  end  not  in  well-being, 
but  in  justice.  Kant  has  extended  this  desire  for  justice  to  inter- 
national relationships,  and  opposed  to  the  incessant  state  of  war 
the  demand  for  an  abiding  peace — not  so  much  on  account  of 
the  material  damage  of  war,  its  loss  and  devastation,  nor  yet 
from  a  compassionate  feeling  of  humanity,  but  because  it  seems 
to  him  revolting  and  intolerable  that  rational  beings  should 
found  their  social  life  on  cunning  and  force  instead  of  on  justice 
and  reason. 


450  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

Though  in  detail  Kant's  exposition  of  this  view  bristles  with 
problems,  yet  it  undoubtedly  gives  clear  expression  to  the 
majesty  and  dignity  of  the  moral  law.  A  no  less  distinguished 
critic  than  Goethe  counts  it  Kant's  "immortal  achievement," 
"to  have  rescued  us  from  the  sentimentality  into  which  we  had 
sunk."  It  is  in  keeping  with  this  greater  seriousness  that  there 
should  also  be  greater  strictness  in  the  judgment  of  man's  moral 
condition.  It  had  been  the  tendency  of  the  Enlightenment  to 
see  in  evil  a  mere  defect  of  our  sensual  nature,  which  would  dis- 
appear in  proportion  as  the  reason  became  stronger.  Kant,  on 
the  contrary,  traces  evil  to  the  will :  for  him  it  is  not  a  mere  fall- 
ing short  of  the  good,  but  is  in  direct  antagonism  to  it;  it  is  not 
dependent  on  outward  conditions,  but  is  "radically"  evil.  The 
problem  thus  becomes  more  acute,  but  the  philosopher  is  not 
thereby  constituted  a  believer  in  the  dogma  of  the  Fall  and 
Original  Sin,  that  "most  unseemly  of  all  conceptions."  For 
man  has  also  a  permanent  disposition  toward  goodness,  and  this 
must  be  energetically  called  upon  to  confront  the  foe.  Instead 
of  hoping  and  tarrying  for  a  miraculous  rescue,  let  the  reason 
which  is  ever  present  within  us  be  summoned  to  unfold  all  its 
power.  "To  challenge  courage  is  already  half-way  toward 
inspiring  it;  but  on  the  other  hand,  (alike  in  morality  and  re- 
ligion), the  lazy  thinking  which  has  no  trust  in  itself  and  waits 
pusillanimously  for  outside  aid,  relaxes  all  a  man's  powers  and 
makes  him  unworthy  of  the  aid  when  it  comes."  Thus  a  wide 
gulf  separates  Kant,  with  his  confidence  in  man's  own  activity, 
from  Augustine;  nor  is  there  much  in  common  here  between 
Kant  and  Luther,  despite  their  many  other  points  of  agreement. 
Kant  says:  "You  can,  because  you  ought";  Luther,  "You  can 
draw  no  logical  inference  from  Ought  to  Can"  (a  debere  ad 
posse  non  valet  consequential  Kant  is  primarily  a  moral,  Luther 
primarily  a  religious  personality,  for  with  Kant,  religion,  being 
"the  recognition  of  all  our  duties  as  commanded  of  God,"  is 
only  an  intensified  morality.;  it  has  no  separate  sphere  of  its 
own,  and  however  high  its  subjective  value,  it  occupies  but  a  low 
place  in  the  world  of  thought. 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  451 

($1  THE   SPHERE  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL 

Generally  speaking,  Kant  subordinates  every  aspect  of  life 
to  the  idea  of  the  good;  it  is  this  which  must  control  and  direct 
the  shaping  of  life  in  its  various  departments.  To  the  beautiful, 
however,  he  gives  an  increased  independence  and  distinctive- 
ness.  Even  though  in  last  resort  he  subordinates  the  beautiful 
to  the  good  as  being  only  a  "symbol  of  the  morally  good," 
even  though  he  understands  by  "taste"  a  "capacity  to  pass 
judgment  upon  the  sensuous  representation  of  moral  ideas," 
yet  his  moralising  tendency  has  never  laid  hold  upon  the  central 
doctrine  of  aesthetics.  He  recognises  the  beautiful  as  something 
independent,  and  extricates  it  from  the  confusion  in  which  it 
has  hitherto  been  involved.  A  more  exact  analysis  of  the  dis- 
tinctive character  of  the  beautiful  leads  us  to  distinguish  clearly 
between  satisfaction  in  the  beautiful,  on  the  one  hand,  and  on 
the  other,  satisfaction  in  the  pleasant  or  the  good.  The  former 
is  disinterested,  whereas  interest  always  enters  into  the  satis- 
faction we  feel  in  the  pleasant  or  the  good.  There  are  also 
other  important  differences.  The  pleasant  is  that  which  satis- 
fies the  senses  by  the  immediate  feeling  it  excites,  and  cannot, 
therefore,  claim  universal  validity.  The  good  is  that  which,  by 
help  of  the  reason,  can  give  satisfaction  through  the  mere  con- 
ception of  it.  But  the  beautiful  is  that  which,  apart  from  any 
conception,  is  presented  as  the  object  of  a  satisfaction  which 
should  be  the  same  for  every  one. 

This  universal  validity  of  the  aesthetic  judgment  can  only  be 
understood  when  the  judgment  refers  exclusively  to  the  form  of 
the  objects  and  this  form  is  regarded  as  not  inherent  in  the 
objects,  but  as  something  introduced  by  ourselves.  So  in  the 
beautiful  we  are  apprehending  and  experiencing  not  an  outside 
world,  but  the  condition  of  our  own  souls.  We  call  things 
"beautiful,"  not  on  account  of  their  own  constitution,  as  to 
which  we  are  perfectly  in  the  dark,  but  because  they  have  the 
power  to  stir  our  mental  faculties,  particularly  the  senses  and 
the  understanding,  into  animated  and  harmonious  activity. 


452  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Thus,  in  aesthetics  as  in  morals,  man  is  freed  from  the  oppression 
of  an  outside  world  and  is  referred  to  his  own  inner  experience. 

This  subjective  nature  of  the  beautiful  is  brought  out  by 
Kant  with  especial  vividness  in  his  treatment  of  the  conception 
of  the  sublime.  The  sublime  rouses  in  us  a  feeling  of  sharp 
contrast — this  is  its  distinctive  mark;  but  we  could  never  experi- 
ence this  feeling  of  contrast,  if  the  contrast  were  between  us  and 
an  outer  world  and  did  not  rather  belong  to  our  own  soul.  In 
the  sublime,  it  is  not  our  relationship  to  things  outside  us  that 
we  are  aware  of,  but  our  inability,  even  by  straining  our  imagin- 
ative faculties  to  the  utmost,  to  grasp  the  infinity  of  the  idea  of 
reason.  The  impressions  of  sense  can  only  be  called  sublime  in 
so  far  as  they  arouse  this  inward  movement:  "the  true  sub- 
limity is  in  the  spirit  of  the  person  who  passes  the  judgment,  and 
not  in  the  natural  object." 

Thus  Kant  has  found  a  basis  for  the  beautiful  in  man's  own 
spiritual  nature,  and  has  therewith  secured  its  independence 
from  outside  influence  and  its  triumph  over  mere  utility.  It  is 
this  which  has  drawn  our  poets  to  him  so  strongly  and  made 
them  feel  such  close  kinship  with  him.  A  notable  instance  is 
Goethe,  who  could  find  that  the  great  central  ideas  of  the 
"  Critique  of  Judgment "  were  in  entire  agreement  with  his  whole 
previous  experience,  whether  in  thought,  action  or  artistic 
creation.  For  Kant,  however,  the  beautiful  furnishes  a  con- 
necting link  between  the  lofty  world  of  the  moral  idea  and  the 
realm  of  phenomena  which  is  all  around  us;  it  gives  coherency 
to  the  sharply-defined  divisions  of  his  system,  and  softens  down 
the  austerity  which  is  its  dominant  note. 

(e)   APPRECIATION  AND  CRITICISM 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  pass  any  confident  judgment  upon  Kant. 
His  influence  on  the  history  of  thought  is  sufficient  to  show  how 
differently  he  may  be  interpreted,  and  how  various  are  the  in- 
centives that  may  be  derived  from  his  work.  Fichte  and  Her- 
bart,  Schleiermacher  and  Schopenhauer,  the  Neo-kantians  and 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  453 

others,  have  all  appealed  to  Kant  and  claimed  to  be  his  spiritual 
successors.  His  power  to  dominate  men's  minds  and  to  attract 
the  movement  of  thought  ever  back  again  to  himself  is  due  not 
so  much  to  any  finality  in  his  achievement  as  to  the  haunting 
nature  of  the  problems  he  has  raised  and  the  impossibility  of 
putting  them  by.  The  first  note  of  Kant's  work  is  one  of  ruth- 
less negation.  Not  only  did  he  force  us  to  give  up  many  indi- 
vidual beliefs  of  which  we  had  never  thought  to  be  dispossessed 
— he  made  our  whole  previous  manner  of  viewing  the  world 
altogether  untenable,  and  by  his  vigorous  attempt  to  give  more 
precision  to  ideas,  degraded  what  had  hitherto  passed  for  scien- 
tific thinking  to  the  status  of  prescientific  speculation.  It  is  true 
that  he  also  gave  us  something  which  should  have  been  sufficient 
to  compensate  abundantly  for  what  we  had  lost.  But  he  was 
never  able  to  endow  this  positive  contribution  with  the  final  and 
convincing  character  of  his  negative  criticism.  He  leaves  it  full 
of  problems  which  challenge  us  imperatively  to  a  further  devel- 
opment. Divisions  of  opinion,  partings  of  the  ways  are  here  all 
too  easy,  and  the  average  man  is  left  with  a  strong  feeling  of 
insecurity.  That  we  should  be  obliged  to  leave  one  bank  with- 
out safely  reaching  the  other,  puts  us  in  an  intolerable  position. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  so  much  force  of  intellect  was  required  in 
order  to  escape  from  it  and,  by  the  gain  of  a  secure  standing- 
ground,  to  make  the  Yes  as  powerful  as  the  No. 

At  this  juncture  we  must  limit  ourselves  to  the  one  point  of 
fundamental  importance  which  dominates  the  whole  of  Kant's 
philosophy  and  determines  its  peculiar  character:  that  is,  the 
shifting  of  truth  and  reality  from  object  to  subject,  from  the 
world  to  the  soul.  Kant,  in  this  respect,  was  taking  his  place 
in  a  movement  of  more  wide-spread  and  historic  import  than  he 
himself  was  aware  of.  He  for  his  part  regarded  his  critical  tend- 
ency as  in  implacable  opposition  to  the  "Dogmatism"  hitherto 
prevalent,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  modern  era  contains  from 
the  outset  the  germ  of  this  subjectivising  movement,  and  has 
sought  with  ever-increasing  energy  to  bring  it  to  maturity.  Mod- 
ern thought  no  longer  regards  man  in  the  old  way  as  part  of  a 


454  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

world  which  embraces  him  in  its  vast  framework;  the  movement 
is  no  longer  from  an  object  to  a  subject  which  responds  to  it  by 
virtue  of  an  inner  relationship,  but  the  subject  is  the  starting- 
point  and  the  mainstay  of  life;  this  is  the  basis  from  which  the 
world  must  be  built  up  and  receive  its  content.  But  at  the  same 
time,  the  subject  itself  becomes  a  problem  and  the  most  difficult 
of  all  problems.  So  long  as  it  was  thought  to  be  merely  one 
single  point,  it  was  hopelessly  unequal  to  the  task  of  building 
up  a  world;  an  impenetrable  universe  stood  over  against  it 
blank  and  rigid,  with  which  it  could  not  undertake  to  wrestle  for 
want  of  an  inward  unity  in  its  own  life.  Now  Kant  effects  here 
an  advance  of  great  importance;  the  subject  for  him  is  not  so 
much  one  single  point  as  a  connected  vital  system,  a  psychical 
fabric,  a  spiritual  structure.  By  virtue  of  this  transformation  it 
does  become  strong  enough  to  develop  into  a  world  of  its  own, 
to  make  itself  the  central  point  of  reality,  to  complete  that  revo- 
lution whose  accomplishment  is  the  dream  of  the  whole  of  our 
modern  era.  Kant's  thought  moves  laboriously  upward  through 
much  painstaking  work,  hypercritical  reflection,  acute  analysis. 
Nowhere  else,  perhaps,  are  such  resources  of  intellect  brought  to 
bear  upon  a  problem.  But  however  slow  and  tedious  the  work, 
it  leads  surely  on  to  the  point  where  the  new  view  opens  before 
us;  there  is  revealed  a  new  world  of  fact,  and  the  surprise  that 
bursts  upon  us  does  not  lie  outside  us  but  in  our  own  nature; 
what  hitherto  seemed  simple  and  obvious  now  becomes  a  prob- 
lem, and  leads  us  to  recognise  a  greater  depth  in  life  than  we 
had  before  suspected.  Even  science  now  becomes  aware  that 
man's  inward  life  is  an  organised  inner  world. 

At  the  same  time  a  prospect  unfolds  before  us  of  a  life  which 
is  self-contained,  independently  pursuing  lofty  aims,  'decisively 
rejecting  as  degrading  the  standards  which  had  hitherto  satis- 
fied the  majority  of  men.  The  discovery  in  man's  own  soul  of 
a  spiritual  depth,  an  infinity,  a  realm  of  absolute  ideals,  results 
in  lifting  him  clear  above  all  the  narrow  and  petty  elements  in 
humanity,  and  freeing  him  completely  from  the  ordinary  selfish 
interests  and  aims  of  everyday  life.  There  is  scarcely  any  thinker 


BREAKING-UP  OF  THE  ENLIGHTENMENT  455 

who  has  done  so  much  as  Kant  to  raise  man's  spiritual  level,  no 
one  who  has  done  more  to  increase  reverence  for  human  nature 
and  place  man's  centre  of  gravity  within  himself.  Moreover,  no 
one  since  the  great  days  of  old  has  so  clearly  depicted  the 
destructive  tendencies  of  a  pursuit  of  mere  utility  as  the  thinker 
who  is  responsible  for  the  saying:  "Everything,  even  that  which 
is  most  sublime,  becomes  small  in  the  hands  of  men,  so  soon  as 
they  turn  the  idea  of  it  to  their  profit."  If,  however,  Kant  has 
so  deepened  the  significance  of  man,  put  the  most  elemental 
facts  in  a  new  light,  and  at  the  same  time  changed  our  funda- 
mental relations  to  reality  in  such  fruitful  ways — then  he  was 
certainly  a  productive  force  in  the  spiritual  world,  a  truly  great 
thinker  with  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  influence,  the  initiator 
of  a  new  era  in  philosophy. 

But  it  is  just  where  any  intellectual  achievement  is  greatest 
that  its  most  knotty  problems  usually  lie;  and  Kant's  adoption 
of  the  subjective  stand-point,  the  increased  emphasis  he  lays  on 
the  subject,  stirs  up  various  questions,  each  of  which  affects  the 
whole  universe  of  thought.  With  regard  to  the  subject,  it  is 
impossible  to  allow  that  it  has  an  independent  sphere  of  opera- 
tion, without  making  it  very  much  more  than  the  mere  indi- 
vidual of  immediate  experience;  but  exactly  what  it  is  that  dif- 
ferentiates it  from  this  individual,  what  it  is  that  gives  to  its 
activities  a  universal  validity,  Kant  does  not  clearly  show.  The 
inner  world  cannot  be  the  creation  and  possession  of  the  merely 
isolated  individual,  and  yet  we  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  anything 
more.  Further  difficulties  are  involved  in  the  sharp  distinction 
drawn  between  theoretical  and  practical  reason,  scientific  thought 
and  moral  action,  as  also  in  the  fundamentally  different  rela- 
tionship to  the  world  which  obtains  in  these  different  spheres* 
In  the  one  domain,  our  mental  activity  is  strictly  limited  to  a 
world  impervious  to  the  reason;  and,  as  the  result  of  such  limi- 
tation, the  truth  it  enjoys  cannot  have  any  validity  outside  the 
human  sphere.  In  the  other,  the  mind  is  to  produce  a  world 
from  its  own  resources,  a  world  which  has  no  touch  of  human 
idiosyncrasy,  a  kingdom  of  absolute  truth.  In  the  one  sphere, 


456  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

our  activity  has  a  world  standing  over  against  it;  in  the  other, 
itself  is  the  deepest  and  most  ultimate  expression  of  the  world. 
If  our  life  can  be  thus  partitioned  out  into  dependent  and  inde- 
pendent activity,  then  do  we  not  feel  that  on  the  one  hand  man 
is  unduly  depreciated  and  that  the  idea  of  a  truth  valid  only  for 
him  is  a  contradiction  in  itself,  whilst  on  the  other  hand,  he  is 
unduly  exalted,  and  his  power  to  construct  a  moral  world  over- 
estimated ?  The  one  sphere  demands  of  him  the  most  cautious 
reserve  and  profoundest  resignation,  while  the  other  lifts  him 
to  the  consciousness  of  a  transcendent  grandeur  and  dignity. 
But  can  both  these  moods  dwell  permanently  together  in  the 
same  soul  ?  Will  not  the  one  conquer  and  make  away  with  the 
other  ?  The  division,  moreover,  has  the  further  disadvantage  of 
not  giving  a  satisfactory  unity  to  the  new  way  of  thought,  thereby 
depriving  it  of  its  greatest  strength.  If  its  contentions  can  be 
dealt  with  separately,  they  are  far  more  likely  to  give  way  before 
doubt  and  opposition.  Moreover,  if  the  soul's  function  is  purely 
formal,  how  can  we  attain  to  an  independent  world,  a  self-con- 
tained life  ?  That  such  a  world  can  be  won  in  the  sphere  of  the 
practical  reason  seems  to  be  due  solely  to  the  fact  that  here  Kant 
introduces  the  more  concrete  conception  of  personality,  a  concep- 
tion which  goes  far  beyond  that  of  mere  form  and  opens  up  an 
essentially  deeper  world  of  experience.  But  even  when  supple- 
mented in  this  way,  Kant's  morality  is  still  far  too  much  a  moral- 
ity of  law,  though  it  be  an  inward  law.  Mere  morals  have  far  too 
much  space  allotted  to  them.  Finally,  in  close  connection  with 
the  distinction  between  form  and  matter — and  in  the  strong  em- 
phasis he  lays  on  this,  Kant  is  far  nearer  to  the  ancients  than  to 
the  moderns — is  the  treatment  of  the  part  played  by  the  soul  as 
in  all  essentials  stereotyped  and  unchangeable.  The  basal  struc- 
ture of  the  mind  is  presented  as  perfect  from  the  outset,  and  as 
operating  in  a  uniform  manner.  Thus  there  is  no  recognition 
of  the  fact  that  man  has  to  work  his  way  into  what  is  funda- 
mental in  his  nature  through  hard  toil  and  much  experience; 
the  genetic  aspect  of  these  ultimate  questions  is  not  given  its  just 
due  which  yet  can  scarcely  be  denied  to  it  in  the  light  of  the 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        457 

experiences  of  the  nineteenth  century.    Lastly,  there  is  a  question 
which  here  we  can  do  no  more  than  indicate:    if  this  freedom, 
Kant's  most  important  doctrine,  is  really  to  bring  forth  a  new^ 
world,  must  there  not  be  something  more  behind  it  ?    Does  not 
the  new  form  require  a  new  content  ? 

The  upshot  of  the  whole  matter  is  that  we  can  only  regard 
Kant's  work  as  a  first  and  not  as  a  final  step.  To  pin  our  faith 
to  the  actual  words  of  the  master  seems  in  this  case  to  be  more 
than  usually  perverse.  The  old  Kantians,  like  Fichte,  who  in 
their  zeal  went  far  beyond  Kant  himself,  were  better  justified 
than  many  moderns  who  erect  criticism  into  a  dogma,  and  would 
fain  keep  all  thought  and  all  life  in  bondage  to  it  for  ever. 
"Back  to  Kant"  is  an  excellent  motto  when  it  means  that  from 
our  manifold  confusions  we  must  climb  with  him  into  the  clearer 
air  of  a  world-historic  movement  and  gain  direction  from  him 
as  to  our  own  task.  But  if  we  are  bidden  cleave  to  all  the  cum- 
bersome machinery  and  learned  scholasticism  of  the  Kantian 
system,  if  we  are  bidden  deny  that  the  rich  and  versatile  nine- 
teenth century  has  made  any  contribution  to  the  ultimate  ques- 
tions of  truth,  if  we  are  told  to  rivet  on  our  own  age,  with  its 
seething  ferment  and  unrest,  the  forms  and  formulas  of  the 
past — and  whether  the  past  be  nearer  or  more  remote  does  not 
alter  the  impropriety  of  the  dependence — then  we  say  No !  and 
again  No!  and  to  the  challenge  "Back  to  Kant!"  insistently 
reply  "Away  from  Kant!"  "Beyond  Kant!" 

(b)  The  German  Humanistic  Movement  and  Its  Ideal  of  Life 

(a)   GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

The  Golden  Age  of  German  literature,  culminating  in  Goethe, 
though  it  presents  every  variety  of  personality  and  production, 
has  yet  a  common  stock  of  fundamental  convictions.  Implicit 
in  all  its  creations  are  certain  peculiar  views  of  life  and  the 
world,  and  its  poetry  is  directly  interwoven  with  reflection  on 
weighty  problems. 

This  literary  movement  presents  itself  first  and  foremost  as 


458  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

a  movement  of  opposition  to  the  Enlightenment,  completely 
transcending  its  point  of  view,  the  point  of  view  at  least  which 
it  had  eventually  adopted.  Instead  of  resorting  to  discussions 
which  appeal  merely  to  the  understanding,  it  seeks  to  grasp  and 
rejuvenate  man's  nature  as  a  whole;  in  opposition  to  utilitarian 
ideals,  it  claims  that  action  has  a  value  of  its  own;  as  against 
the  practical  and  ethical  interpretation  of  life,  it  upholds  the 
universal  interpretation  of  art;  instead  of  placing  a  gulf  between 
world  and  man,  it  craves  union  with  the  universe.  By  the  aid 
of  art  man  passes  beyond  the  purposes  and  necessities  of  a 
narrow  provincial  world  to  a  new  reality,  a  kingdom  that  is 
shaped  from  within,  a  world  where  all  is  pure  and  beautiful. 
And  the  peculiar  condition  of  German  society  plainly  indicated 
this  as  the  only  course  open  to  the  younger  generation.  For 
political  and  social  life,  with  its  factions,  its  pettiness,  its  mean- 
ness, could  offer  no  attractions  to  noble  minds.  In  the  Germany 
of  that  age,  there  was,  as  Mme.  von  Stael  so  aptly  put  it,  "nothing 
to  do  save  for  him  whose  concern  was  with  the  universe."  Thus 
the  best  power  of  the  nation  was  diverted  to  the  channels  of 
thought  and  literature.  These  were  not  to  furnish  a  mere  em- 
broidery to  life,  but  to  open  up  a  new  life,  a  life  of  man  purely 
as  man,  a  life  in  the  depths  of  the  soul,  removed  from  all  the 
limitations  and  sordidness  of  external  conditions.  To  be  man 
— with  the  freedom  this  implies — becomes  an  ideal  and  the 
highest  of  all  ideals. 

For  the  attainment  of  such  an  ideal  we  must  rely  chiefly  upon 
art,  especially  literary  art.  And  the  reason  is  that  art  alone 
can  free  itself  from  the  dead  weight  of  matter  under  which  we 
otherwise  lie  crushed.  It  is  in  the  realm  of  the  beautiful  that 
struggling  form  first  wins  its  way  to  complete  self-expression, 
and  the  diversity  of  life  is  gathered  into  a  living  unity.  It  is  art 
that  first  makes  of  man  a  spiritual  organism,  a  coherent  whole, 
and  brings  all  his  powers  into  complete  harmony.  It  is  when 
we  are  thus  brought  to  realise  the  creative  power  of  art  within 
our  own  experience  that  a  new  world  dawns,  a  reality  which, 
though  invisible,  is  immediately  present  to  us.  We  realise  that 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        459 

our  life  proceeds  on  two  different  levels.  We  separate  clearly 
between  the  externalities  of  life  with  their  canons  of  necessity 
and  utility,  and  the  realm  of  the  beautiful  with  its  noble  culture — 
between  the  worldly  wisdom  of  the  understanding  and  the 
creative  power  of  reason — between  mere  civilisation  as  "the 
peaceful  ordering  of  outward  existence"  (F.  A.  Wolf),  and  the 
genuine  culture  of  spiritual  life. 

Now,  if  literature,  with  its  interfusion  of  thought  and  art, 
helps  to  emphasise  and  establish  this  higher  level  of  existence, 
then  it  is  easy  to  see  how  it  may  become  the  very  centre  of  life 
and  attract  man's  best  energy  and  devotion. 

Moreover,  the  distinguished  position  assigned  to  man  in  no 
way  severs  him  from  his  connection  with  the  universe.  For  it 
is  one  and  the  same  life,  one  and  the  same  fundamental  law, 
which  embraces  alike  man  and  nature.  Everywhere  it  is  the 
inward  powers  that  prevail,  that  take  shape  and  form,  and  work 
together  to  produce  a  whole.  But  in  nature  the  process  takes 
place  unconsciously;  it  is  subject  to  a  law  of  necessity  and  con- 
ditioned by  the  growth  of  mysterious  powers  and  impulses.  It 
is  in  man  first  that  the  vital  process  becomes  clear,  self-conscious 
and  free.  "Nature  is  limited  to  the  inferior  part  of  a  compul- 
sory fulfilment  of  Reason,  but  the  kingdom  of  the  Spirit  is  the 
kingdom  of  Freedom"  (Hegel).  And  if  this  explains  how  the 
life  of  the  world  first  becomes  self-conscious  and  realises  its  own 
truth,  it  explains  no  less  how  man  is  at  once  closely  linked  to  the 
whole  universe  and  yet  exalted  above  the  other  parts  of  it.  His 
liberation,  however,  requires  the  help  of  beauty  as  the  twin- 
sister  of  truth.  Beauty  does  not  entice  us  into  a  foreign  realm, 
but  discloses  to  us  the  intimate  and  inmost  nature  of  reality. 

This  many-sided  culture,  rooted  deep  in  man's  own  nature, 
necessarily  pervades  the  whole  of  life,  filling  every  part  of  it  with 
the  spirit  of  truth  and  beauty.  Schleiermacher  shows  its  effect 
on  religion;  Pestalozzi  and  F.  A.  Wolf  its  bearing  upon  educa- 
tion. The  primary  function  of  education  is  not  to  minister  to 
the  purposes  of  social  intercourse,  but  to  develop  and  complete 
man's  spiritual  nature  and  secure  the  even  cultivation  of  all  his 


460  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

powers.  The  educator  must  not  be  dictatorial,  but  must  be 
content  to  assist  the  workings  of  the  pupil's  own  mind  and  lend 
a  hand  where  needed.  Again,  it  is  only  in  the  light  of  the  spir- 
itual and  artistic  temper  of  the  time  that  the  task  undertaken  by 
speculative  philosophy,  that,  namely,  of  understanding  the  world 
from  within,  becomes  really  intelligible. 

In  comparison  with  the  realisation  of  this  spiritual  culture, 
the  more  ordinary  concerns  of  life  seem  of  secondary  or  no  im- 
portance. Among  these  are  to  be  reckoned  all  political  interests, 
more  especially  matters  of  foreign  policy.  These  may  be  left  to 
look  after  themselves.  Why  should  a  man  "embroil  himself  in 
the  quarrels  of  kings"  (Goethe)? 

"  Fur  Regen  und  Tau  und  furs  Wohl  der  Menschengeschlechter 
Lass  du  den  Himmel,  Freund,  sorgen  wie  gestem  so  heut."  l 

— Schiller. 

The  State  appears  as  something  inhuman,  a  vast  machine, 
a  soulless  contrivance,  keeping  both  culture  and  individuality 
from  their  due.  All  real  progress  in  the  purely  human  sphere 
will  come,  not  from  the  State  and  its  organisation,  but  from  the 
initiative  of  great  personalities.  It  is  in  the  light  of  such  con- 
victions that  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  undertakes  an  inquiry 
into  the  "limits  of  state-efficiency,"  that  Fichte,  in  one  of  his 
earlier  writings,  lays  it  down  as  the  aim  of  all  government  "to 
make  government  superfluous,"  and  that  Friedrich  Schlegel 
warns  us  "not  to  lavish  our  faith  and  love  on  politics,  but  to 
dedicate  ourselves  to  the  divine  world  of  science  and  art,  laying 
our  life  upon  the  sacred  altar  of  an  imperishable  culture." 

This  absorption  in  what  was  essentially  human  brought  with 
it  a  sense  of  superiority  to  all  international  feuds  and  rivalries. 
Even  a  man  like  Fichte,  who  later  did  so  much  to  arouse  the 
spirit  of  German  patriotism,  declares,  on  the  eve  of  the  Prussian 
defeat  at  Jena,  that  the  Fatherland  of  the  truly  cultivated  Euro- 
pean is,  broadly  speaking,  Europe,  and,  more  particularly,  that 

"  For  rain  and  dew  and  the  .weal  of  the  sons  of  men 
Let  Heaven  take  thought,  my  friend,  as  in  days  agone." 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        461 

State  which,  In  any  particular  epoch,  is  pre-eminent  in  culture"; 
and  he  adds:  "With  this  cosmopolitan  spirit  we  can  afford  to 
be  perfectly  untroubled  about  the  fate  of  the  different  states." 
Goethe's  indifference  to  movements  for  national  independence 
is  matter  of  common  knowledge.  It  must  have  been  a  very  poor 
comprehension  of  the  moving  forces  of  political  life  which  could 
allow  him  to  say  in  the  year  1812,  at  the  very  time  when  Ger- 
many was  preparing  to  throw  off  the  French  yoke — that  Prussia 
was  a  State  which  it  was  "past  all  power  to  save."  In  the  most 
perilous  crisis  of  her  history,  Germany  found  her  greatest  poet 
indifferent  to  her  national  fate. 

We  do  not  desire  to  condone  this  defect;  but  it  is,  after  all, 
only  the  weaker  side  of  the  distinctive  virtue  of  this  period :  its 
unwearied  labour  in  promoting  the  spiritual  culture  of  man  as 
man.  It  was  this  very  indifference  which  made  it  possible,  amid 
upheaval  and  revolution,  to  keep  a  stable  equilibrium,  and  to 
pursue  all  undisturbed  the  work  of  literary  creation  as  a  kind  of 
religious  service  in  the  temple  of  Beauty  and  Truth. 

This  concentration  of  effort  upon  spiritual  culture  gives  a 
central  importance  to  the  individual.  Each  individual,  to  bor- 
row Schiller's  expression,  is  at  once  "fitted  and  destined  for  a 
pure  ideal  manhood."  The  attainment  of  this  ideal  requires 
from  us  the  most  zealous  self-cultivation,  a  clear  understanding 
of  our  own  strong  points,  and  a  concentration  of  effort  upon  our 
own  peculiar  gifts.  But  when  once,  through  self-examination 
and  self-knowledge,  we  have  ascertained  what  these  are,  then 
we  may — nay,  must — trust  confidently  to  our  own  genius,  and 
not  try  and  adjust  ourselves  to  the  dead  level  of  any  social  envi- 
ronment. As  far  as  possible,  the  individual  must  put  his  own 
individuality  into  every  phase  of  life.  This  emphasising  of  indi- 
viduality results  in  a  strong  aversion,  not  only  for  all  conven- 
tional forms,  but  also  for  all  method  that  makes  for  restriction 
and  uniformity.  This  is  why  F.  A.  Wolf  distrusts  educational 
technique  and  lets  all  advice  to  the  teacher  culminate  in  the 
requirement  to  have  intelligence  and  evoke  it.  The  age  did 
really,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  produce  a  remarkable  number  of 


462  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

striking  personalities,  who,  even  down  to  details  of  language 
and  style,  substantially  recast  their  environment  in  a  distinctive 
and  original  manner. 

The  social  relationships  of  the  period  show  the  same  indi- 
vidualistic tendency.  In  the  interchange  of  intellectual  confi- 
dences and  spiritual  experiences,  there  grow  up  the  closest 
friendships,  and  the  expressions  of  one's  deepest  convictions  in 
letters  to  friends  is  recognised  as  a  part,  and  not  the  least  im- 
portant part,  of  the  serious  business  of  life.  Again,  outside  this 
circle  of  friends,  there  grows  up  a  cultured  society,  a  community 
of  those  who,  though  not  themselves  creative  artists  and  lead- 
ers of  thought,  yet  by  receiving  and  spreading  the  ideas  of  such, 
contribute  to  the  establishment  of  the  new  order.  Within  this 
intellectual  sphere  there  is  an  understood  agreement  in  the 
valuation  of  enjoyments,  in  the  principles  of  judgment,  in  the 
canons  of  taste.  It  is  a  resurrection  of  the  social  culture  of  the 
Renaissance,  but  in  a  quieter,  less  turbulent,  more  inward  form. 

All  that  this  cultured  circle  does  is  inspired  by  a  courageous  and 
joyful  outlook  on  the  world  and  life.  Not  that  there  is  any  sub- 
scribing to  a  comfortable  optimism,  which  smooths  away  all 
problems  from  the  outset.  The  problems  are  deeply  realised 
and  life  is  seen  to  be  full  of  difficult  tasks.  The  optimism  lies  in 
this,  that  our  mental  force  is  deemed  equal  to  the  tasks,  and  the 
shock  of  collision  is  felt  as  taxing  our  capacity  to  the  utmost, 
but  not  as  barring  or  stultifying  our  effort.  It  is  impossible  to 
place  any  high  value  on  mental  work,  unless  we  believe  that  it 
has  a  cosmic  setting,  and  that  behind  human  undertakings  there 
is  the  support  of  a  Divine  Power.  Thus  religious  conviction  is 
looked  upon  with  no  disfavour,  but  it  is  rather  an  admission  of 
infinity  into  man's  finite  life,  an  acknowledgment  of  an  unseen 
order  of  things,  than  a  movement  toward  a  new  world  not  to  be 
gained  save  through  shock  and  revolution.  There  is  much 
closer  kinship  to  Panentheism,  the  creed  of  the  noblest  minds  of 
the  Renaissance,  than  to  the  distinctively  Christian  view  which 
these  men  incline  to  look  upon  as  a  mere  refuge  for  the  weak 
and  sickly.  Religion  for  them  is  rather  an  invisible  Presence 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        463 

which  attends  their  work  than  a  specific  form  of  spiritual  experi- 
ence. The  breadth  and  freedom  of  their  temper  is  in  some  danger 
of  evaporating  into  a  flimsy  sentimentality.  On  the  question  of 
immortality  they  are  inclined  to  take  up  an  affirmative  position. 
Their  creative  work  renders  them  so  conscious  of  their  supe- 
riority to  mere  time-limitations,  gives  them  such  a  feeling  of  being 
possessed  by  a  Power  which  cannot  perish,  that  they  find  it  im- 
possible to  admit  the  entire  reversion  of  man  to  nature,  or  to 
hold  that  death  implies  the  complete  extinction  of  the  spiritual 
life.  Nevertheless,  it  is  mainly  in  this  life  that  they  realise  their 
immortality,  and  it  is  by  virtue  of  this  realisation  that  they  oppose 
to  the  familiar  Memento  mori  a  "Remember  to  live!" 

"  So  lost  sich  jene  grosse  Frage 
Nach  unserm  zweiten  Vaterland, 
Denn  das  Bestandige  der  ird'schen  Tage 
Verbiirgt  uns  ewigen  Bestand." ' 

The  danger,  no  less  than  the  greatness,  of  this  German  Hu- 
manism, is  clear  enough:  the  danger  of  aristocratic  exclusive- 
ness,  reluctance  to  face  the  forces  of  evil  and  darkness  in  the 
world  at  large,  lack  of  strength,  robustness,  firmness  of  char- 
acter. For  such  defects,  however,  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  age  are  largely  responsible,  and  in  any  case  we  can  rejoice 
unreservedly  in  the  advantages  which  have  accrued  to  humanity 
from  the  work  of  these  poets  and  thinkers.  For  with  wonderful 
strength  and  tenderness  they  have  deepened  the  self-conscious- 
ness of  life,  rejuvenated  and  ennobled  the  whole  expanse  of 
being,  thought  out  man's  most  intimate  relations  to  himself, 
his  companions,  and  his  natural  environment.  They  had  so 
fine  a  perception  of  what  was  essential  to  life,  and  expressed 
themselves  with  such  simplicity  and  dignity  of  style,  that  their 
work,  taken  as  a  whole,  ranks  among  humanity's  best  and 
priceless  possessions.  Moreover,  the  spiritual  force  of  this 

1 "  Discovered  lies  the  land  of  our  rebirth, 
A  world  of  rest  within  this  world  of  strife; 
The  steadfastness  that  bears  the  life  of  earth 
Reveals  already  the  immortal  life." 


464  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

small  band  of  workers  showed  itself  quite  capable  of  strong 
action  in  the  outer  world  as  soon  as  there  was  occasion  for  it. 
It  was,  indeed,  mainly  from  the  ranks  of  these  seemingly  vision- 
ary dreamers  that  those  men  came  forward,  though  not  without 
much  heart-searching  and  division,  who,  after  the  swift  Disrup- 
tion, mustered  strength,  courage  and  skill  sufficient  to  lift  their 
country  up  again  and  shape  its  destinies  anew.  Napoleon  him- 
self, the  Arch-Realist,  ascribed  his  downfall  not  primarily  to  the 
diplomacy  of  statecraft  or  the  power  of  the  bayonet,  but  to  the 
resistance  of  the  German  Ideologists  (Ideologeri).  And  Germany 
would  never  have  been  capable  in  the  nineteenth  century  of  such 
great  achievements  in  the  practical  world,  had  not  the  quiet 
work  of  its  poets  and  thinkers  in  the  world  of  thought  put  at  its 
disposal  the  resources  and  the  educative  influence  of  their  vast 
treasure-house  of  inspiration. 

(#)  GOETHE 

Goethe,  though  closely  connected  with  the  general  movement 
of  German  Humanism,  is  yet  far  too  distinct  an  individuality 
and  too  far  above  the  average  of  the  movement  not  to  require 
a  separate  treatment.  In  such  a  treatment  we  must  from  the 
outset  bear  two  things  in  mind.  Goethe's  philosophy  of  life,  no 
less  than  his  art  as  a  whole,  is  not  to  be  taken  as  a  doctrine  or 
teaching  of  universal  application,  but  rather  as  a  personal  reve- 
lation. It  is  just  the  expression  of  a  highly  characteristic  indi- 
viduality and  is  only  completely  true  in  reference  to  this  individ- 
uality. And  since  in  Goethe  we  are  dealing  with  such  a  thor- 
oughly individual  character,  we  must  never  take  his  doctrine  and 
work  as  supplying  norms  and  rules  for  the  majority  of  mankind. 

Moreover,  considerable  misunderstanding  is  caused  by  a 
failure  to  recognise  the  deep  seriousness  of  Goethe's  life-work 
and  the  inner  development  which  it  underwent.  He  does  not 
admit  us  into  his  confidence  till  his  experiences  have  been  cast, 
with  marvellous  artistic  skill,  into  the  clearest  possible  form. 
And  the  result  is  that  we  tend  to  look  upon  it  all  as  an  easy  gift 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        465 

of  fortune,  a  merely  natural  process  of  evolution,  instead  of 
recognising  its  real  origin  in  the  reaction  of  his  intellectual  and 
moral  nature. 

For  Goethe  the  secret  of  life  lies  in  the  relationship  of  man  to 
the  universe.  Our  life  has  its  source  hi  the  universe  and  our 
nature  develops  through  interchange  of  activities  with  the  uni- 
verse. Goethe  has  the  most  pronounced  aversion  to  dwelling 
among  the  trivialities  of  life  or  imprisoning  himself  in  a  web  of 
conventional  relations.  Such  a  course  seems  to  him  to  involve 
not  merely  limitation  but  a  falling  from  truth,  since  truth  can 
be  realised  only  through  a  vital  interchange  with  the  universe. 
This  bias  toward  breadth  and  greatness  brings  Goethe  very  close 
to  Spinoza.  In  his  longing  for  emancipation  from  human  little- 
ness and  readiness  to  yield  all  to  the  Infinite,  Goethe  feels  him- 
self to  be  Spinoza's  pupil.  But  a  closer  scrutiny  reveals  a  great 
difference  between  the  two  men.  Spinoza  as  far  as  possible 
absorbs  man  into  the  universe  and  would  fain  preserve  reality 
from  every  anthropomorphic  defacement.  With  Goethe,  man 
is  more  independent.  It  is  true  that  his  nature  can  only  develop 
through  contact  with  the  universe,  but  he  has  some  inward  con- 
tribution of  his  own  to  make  which  enables  him  to  react  upon 
the  influences  that  reach  him  from  without.  Life  is  not  a  mere 
passive  appropriation  of  the  world:  to  the  world  and  its  intru- 
sion it  opposes  a  defensive  resistance,  and  in  this  way  becomes 
more  alive  to  the  joy  of  action  than  was  consistent  with  the 
more  severe  conceptions  of  Spinoza. 

With  Goethe,  the  influence  of  the  world  in  giving  clearness 
and  shape  to  man's  character  causes  him  to  regard  it  as  itself 
ensouled.  The  whole  environment  becomes  inwardly  alive  and 
akin  to  us.  An  intimate  exchange  of  relations  arises  in  which 
the  world  unlocks  to  man  its  once  sealed  nature  and  acquaints 
him  with  its  inmost  life  and  work.  This  is  primarily  an  artistic 
view  of  life,  which  regards  even  natural  science  as  only  great 
and  distinctive  in  so  far  as  it  is  dominated  by  the  artistic  im- 
pulse. Its  closest  historical  affinities  are  with  classical  antiquity. 
It  is,  above  all,  a  revival  of  Platonism  with  its  union  of  soul  and 


466  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

world,  though  the  Platonism  appears  in  a  fresh  garb,  trans- 
formed no  less  by  modern  conditions  than  by  Goethe's  unique 
personality.  If,  from  his  period  of  storm  and  stress,  he  turned 
to  Greece  for  refuge,  this  was  not  a  surrender  but  a  reassertion  of 
his  innermost  nature.  We  may  add  that  his  attempt  to  assimi- 
late this  foreign  influence  was  only  approximately  successful. 

Since  soul  and  world  are  thus  closely  linked  together  in  life's 
process,  it  is  natural  that  the  world  should  express  on  a  larger 
scale  the  experiences  of  the  individual.  Now  Goethe  does  not 
mean  by  the  world  some  vague  problematic  abstraction,  but  a 
fact  which  carries  with  it  its  own  explanation.  It  encircles  us 
with  powers  transcending  our  own,  and  yet  does  not  crush  us. 
Our  work  is  to  understand  and  appropriate  this  reality,  but  we 
must  not  seek  to  change  it,  to  assign  to  it  an  origin  external  to 
itself,  or  go  beyond  it  for  an  explanation.  Thus  reality  appears 
primarily  as  nature,  and  we  must  conceive  life  as  determined 
before  we  can  think  of  it  as  free.  We  must  not  seek  to  get  be- 
hind the  things  whose  nature  we  are  studying;  we  must  not 
look  for  something  beyond  phenomena;  but  must  rather  work 
our  way  into  them  till  we  reach  primitive  phenomena,  which 
explain  themselves  and  ought,  therefore,  to  suffice  us.  "Theory 
is  nothing  in  and  for  itself,  except  in  so  far  as  it  induces  a  belief 
in  the  systematic  character  of  fact."  "We  must  not  seek  any- 
thing behind  phenomena:  the  facts  themselves  are  the  theory." 
Thus  there  is  a  rejection  of  all  "transcendental  philosophy,"  an 
aversion  to  all  destructive  analysis,  a  vigorous  attempt  to  grasp 
the  world  about  us  as  a  whole. 

Life,  no  less  than  scientific  investigation,  is  confined  within 
impassable  barriers.  All  man's  activity  rests  upon  a  given 
natural  order;  his  work  can  only  succeed  when  it  strikes  out  in 
the  direction  prescribed  by  nature;  it  becomes  empty  and 
artificial  if  it  tries  to  sever  its  connections  or  to  act  in  opposition 
to  nature.  "Let  man  turn  whither  he  will,  undertake  no  matter 
what;  he  will  ever  come  back  again  to  that  path  which  nature 
has  mapped  out  for  him."  Our  nature,  however,  does  not 
evolve  of  itself  apart  from  our  activity;  it  is  not  so  clearly  dis- 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        467 

cernible  that  there  is  no  chance  of  mistaking  it.  It  must  first  of 
all  be  found  and  won.  So  our  fate  becomes  a  task  for  our  own 
achievement.  How  difficult  Goethe  found  it,  with  all  his  talents, 
to  ascertain  clearly  the  bent  of  his  own  nature,  how  it  was  only 
after  much  agitation  and  painful  uncertainty  that  he  came  to 
any  definite  conclusion  as  to  his  real  bias,  we  know;  and  we 
know,  too,  that  his  belief  in  nature  as  immanent  in  man  is  far  from 
inducing  an  indolent  quiescence  or  implying  an  easy  and  com- 
fortable ordering  of  life.  But  the  existence  of  such  a  nature 
certainly  does  place  a  fixed  limit  to  the  restlessness  of  our  move- 
ments. We  seek  and  in  seeking  are  already  pressing  back  to 
the  starting-point;  however  keen  our  activity,  life  is  yet  free 
from  violent  shock,  abrupt  transition  and  drastic  innovation. 
Through  all  change  there  runs  a  vein  of  permanence:  no 
amount  of  fluctuation  can  imperil  the  primitive  basis  of  nature. 
Thus,  even  in  the  chequered  fortunes  of  mankind,  Goethe 
sought  to  trace  and  to  promote  continuity.  A  foe  to  revolution, 
he  would  fain  link  all  action  closely  to  precedent  and  develop 
existing  tendencies  in  a  spirit  of  peaceful  progress. 

Goethe's  poetic  manner  is  in  complete  accord  with  his  own 
personal  feeling.  His  heroes  experience  no  inward  development 
through  conflict  with  their  environment;  amid  all  change  of 
circumstance  they  preserve  their  original  nature.  The  change 
gives  them  constant  opportunities  of  disclosing  new  aspects  of 
this  nature  and  working  it  out  more  forcefully,  but  they  are  not 
inwardly  transformed  by  any  sudden  revelation  of  unsuspected 
possibilities.  Their  final  salvation  usually  comes  through  a 
return  to  their  true  nature  which  has  only  been  obscured  by 
temptation  and  error.  Through  their  lack  of  an  inward  history 
Goethe's  heroes  are  not  really  dramatic  characters,  though  they 
are  certainly  endowed  with  marvellous  vitality  and  are  perfectly 
individual  and  distinctive  creations.  This,  too,  would  explain  why 
he  has  created  so  many  splendid  women  and  so  few  genuine  men. 

If  the  nature  of  which  Goethe  makes  man  the  offshoot  is  thus 
given  and  unchangeable,  then  it  must  be  mainly  the  constitution 
of  this  nature  which  determines  the  character  of  our  life.  Now 


468  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

in  the  first  place,  nature  is  no  mere  juxtaposition  of  phenomena, 
but  a  spiritual  whole.  As  an  invisible  nexus  of  relations  she 
encircles  and  animates  all  the  diversity  of  the  visible  world. 
This  brings  us  to  the  thought  of  an  All-pervading  Deity.  On 
this  point,  Goethe  went  through  various  stages  from  a  Pantheism 
tinged  with  Naturalism  to  an  approximation  to  Theism;  but 
throughout  he  was  consistent  in  apprehending  the  Divine  as  in 
intimate  union  with  the  world  rather  than  in  opposition  to  it, 
in  seeing  Nature  in  God  and  God  in  Nature.  God  does  not  act 
upon  things  from  an  external  stand-point,  but  he  works  from 
within  their  own  being,  and  they  do  not  attain  to  fulness  of 
being  until  they  become  part  of  the  Universal  Life. 

This  sense  of  being  rooted  in  a  universal  life  not  only  gives 
to  the  individual  existence  a  glad  confidence  and  reposeful 
security,  it  at  the  same  time  engenders  a  feeling  of  organic  unity 
with  all  other  beings.  Herein  lies  the  force  and  justice  of 
Goethe's  love  for  everything  living  and  especially  for  human 
nature,  for  the  Divine  Immanence  leads  us  to  recognise  every- 
where the  germ  of  something  precious  and  imperishable,  and 
not  to  be  shaken  in  the  value  we  attach  to  it  by  all  the  world's 
need  and  guilt.  "  God  is  always  meeting  Himself;  God  in  man 
meets  Himself  again  in  man.  Therefore  no  one  has  any  reason 
to  disparage  himself  even  in  comparison  with  the  greatest."  It 
is  a  peculiar  merit  of  Goethe's  that,  however  much  he  may  be 
repelled  by  universal,  abstract  creeds,  he  is  yet  able  to  see  and 
recognise  God  in  every  place,  and  to  reverence  Him  with  glad- 
ness wherever  and  however  He  reveal  Himself,  in  nature  as  in 
man. 

This,  indeed,  is  Goethe's  central  conviction,  that  the  Universal 
Life  does  not  swallow  up  manifoldness  nor  extinguish  differ- 
ences, but  that  it  is  the  only  means  of  bringing  to  its  full  devel- 
opment the  detailed  content  of  reality;  in  particular,  that  it  does 
not  attempt  to  abolish  the  great  oppositions  of  life  and  world, 
but  takes  them  up  into  Itself  and  brings  them  into  fruitful  rela- 
tions to  each  other.  If  it  be  true  that  nothing  stamps  a  philoso- 
pher more  surely  than  his  attitude  toward  these  oppositions, 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        469 

then  it  is  natural  that  Goethe's  distinctive  individuality  should 
here  find  particularly  clear  expression.  And  the  surmise  is 
verified.  One  opposition,  however,  does  not  suffice  for  him. 
The  world  is  rich  enough  to  supply  him  with  a  whole  series  of 
oppositions.  One  member  does  not  dominate  and  crush  the 
other;  the  different  aspects  are  far  enough  apart  for  each  to 
develop  fully  its  peculiar  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  suffi- 
ciently near  in  the  all-embracing  unity  of  life  to  be  able  to  act 
most  effectively  on  each  other.  By  thus  transforming  existence 
into  a  tissue  of  opposites  which  stand  out  clearly  and  boldly 
against  each  other,  while  yet  there  exists  between  them  a  mutual 
attraction  and  a  vital  sympathy,  Goethe  builds  up  a  wonderfully 
balanced  system  of  movements  and  counter-movements,  spirit- 
ualises, clarifies,  ennobles  our  whole  existence,  gathers  all  life, 
nay,  more,  all  reality,  into  one  great  artistic  synthesis. 

The  individual  has  his  place  within  the  whole,  whence  he 
draws  his  individual  life:  but  this  life  he  models  in  a  way  pecu- 
liar to  himself,  and  so  has  a  truth  proper  to  himself.  Each  has 
first  to  create  his  own  world  from  the  world  as  given.  But  since 
all  manifoldness  is  difference  within  a  unity,  the  individual 
spheres  do  not  fall  asunder.  "Each  can  have  his  own  truth, 
and  yet  truth  remains  ever  the  same."  While  each  individual 
has  a  particular  mode  of  development,  yet  he  is  also  an  expres- 
sion and  symbol  of  that  which  is  most  universal.  When  we  are 
striving  for  our  own  individual  development,  we  are  at  the  same 
time  laying  hold  upon  Infinity. 

"  Du  sehnst  dich  weit  hinaus  zu  wandem, 
Bereitest  dich  zu  raschem  Flug. 
Dir  selbst  sei  treu  und  treu  den  andern; 
Dann  ist  die  Enge  weit  genug."  ' 

Thus  freedom  and  necessity  find  their  reconciliation.  We 
are  all  subject  to  eternal,  immutable  laws,  which  suffer  no  resist- 

1 "  Why  seek  to  cleave  the  distant  blue, 
Or  let  far  fields  thy  steps  entice? 
Be  to  thyself  and  others  true, 
So  narrow  ways  all  needs  suffice." 


470  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ance.  Throughout  the  whole  of  nature's  work  there  are  fixed 
types  which  dominate  all  the  variety  of  life.  Yet,  rigid  though 
nature's  laws  may  be,  they  allow  scope  for  individual  culture 
and  personal  action.  "Our  life,  like  that  whole  of  which  we 
are  a  part,  is  a  mysterious  blending  of  freedom  and  necessity." 
Power  and  limitation,  caprice  and  law,  freedom  and  measure, 
are  constantly  seeking  and  finding  a  mutual  adjustment. 

There  is  no  rigid  antithesis  between  time  and  eternity;  but 
the  Eternal,  the  Imperishable,  which  contains  all  life  within 
itself,  is  manifest  in  time,  altering  its  fashion  from  moment  to 
moment  so  as  always  to  preserve  its  unique  character.  We  must 
lay  hold  of  it  in  its  present  immediacy,  treat  the  moment  as 
representative  of  eternity.  Not  that  we  should  hurry  on  greedily 
from  one  moment  to  another;  our  existence  loses  all  meaning 
and  value  if  one  day  is  simply  the  progenitor  of  the  next,  and 
each  instant  swallows  up  its  predecessor.  Amid  all  our  untiring 
activity  we  should  have  assurance  and  repose.  While  awake  to 
the  claims  of  the  living  present,  we  should  feel  that  we  are  spir- 
itually akin  to  the  great  souls  of  every  age. 

"  Die  Wahrheit  war  schon  langst  gefunden, 
Hat  edle  Geisterschaft  verbunden; 
Das  alte  Wahre,  fass'  es  an! "  * 

No  antithesis  is  for  Goethe  more  important  and  no  recon- 
ciliation more  fruitful  than  that  of  Inner  and  Outer.  Though 
the  dominant  tendency  of  the  age  was  to  construct  only  from 
within,  yet  Goethe  attributes  far  more  independence  and  value 
to  external  factors.  It  is  only  through  the  combination  of  inter- 
nal with  external  factors  that  life  and  creative  activity  become 
really  productive.  Inner  and  Outer  mutually  imply  each  other; 
it  is  in  the  Outer  that  the  Inner  first  finds  form  and  expression, 
and  the  Outer  only  reveals  its  real  nature  in  so  far  as  it  is  spir- 
itually appropriated.  It  is  their  mutual  contact  and  interpene- 
tration  that  produce  forms  instinct  with  life  and  energy.  This 

1 "  Truth  is  old,  an  ancient  bond 
Of  brotherhood  for  noble  souls. 
The  old  truth, — cleave  to  that,  my  friend!" 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        471 

experience  of  his  artistic  nature  became  for  Goethe  an  intimate 
necessity  of  his  being.  In  the  interaction  of  Inner  and  Outer  he 
found  a  focus  for  all  his  creative  energies  and  a  clue  to  all  his 
problems.  Everything  that  gave  him  joy  or  pain  or  otherwise 
preoccupied  him  he  must  needs  make  into  a  picture,  a  poem. 
This  detachment  of  the  emotional  element  and  its  embodiment 
in  literary  form  gave  peace  to  his  mind  and  complete  satisfac- 
tion. These  intimate  self-revelations  contained  in  his  artistic 
work  we  can  scarcely  look  upon  as  a  moral  unburdening.  But 
they  were  undoubtedly  a  most  essential  element  in  giving  to 
Goethe's  work  the  grand  sincerity  and  marvellous  simplicity 
which  mark  him  out  from  all  other  writers  and  well  entitle  him 
to  say  of  himself: 

"  Teilen  kann  ich  nicht  das  Leben, 
Nicht  das  Innen  noch  das  Aussen, 
Alle-  muss  das  Ganze  geben, 
Um  mit  euch  und  mir  zu  hausen. 
Immer  hab'  ich  nur  geschrieben 
Wie  ich  fiihle,  wie  ich's  meine, 
Und  so  spalt'  ich  mich,  ihr  Lieben, 
Und  bin  immerfort  der  Eine."  l 

This  is  very  closely  connected  with  the  objectivity  of  thought 
and  creation,  which  is  perhaps  what  we  admire  most  of  all  in 
Goethe.  This  objectivity  is  no  mere  counterfeiting  of  some 
outside  object,  but  the  object  is  transplanted  into  the  soil  of  the 
mind  where  it  develops  an  inner  life,  in  virtue  of  which  it  is  able 
to  reveal  its  own  nature  and  make  its  appeal  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  men.  Thus  it  is  not  that  a  subjective  mood  is  imposed 
upon  things,  but  that  their  own  mood  is  either  stolen  or  wrested 
from  them;  to  the  poet's  soul  their  innermost  nature  is  disclosed. 

1 "  Whole  my  life  must  ever  be, 
Inwardly  and  outwardly. 
To  each  of  you  I  give  it  free, 
To  dwell  with  you  as  erst  with  me. 
Ever  true  has  been  mine  art, 
True  to  thought  and  feeling's  claim; 
Though  in  twain  myself  I  part, 
I  yet  am  evermore  the  same." 


472  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

The  poet  appears  as  a  magician  who,  in  his  journeyings  through 
nature,  makes  the  once  dumb  beings  speak,  to  whose  spiritual 
perception  the  whole  vast  world  reveals  itself,  who  discloses  to 
each  thing  the  native  depths  of  its  own  being  and  detects  in  each 
its  vital,  essential,  effective  elements.  This  inner  quickening  of 
reality  allows  of  no  opposition  between  man  and  world,  suffers 
no  chasm  between  being  and  appearance,  but  the  ultimate 
deeps  of  existence  open  before  it,  as  it  gathers  into  one  great 
synthesis  world  and  spirit — a  synthesis  "which  gives  us  the 
most  blessed  assurance  of  the  eternal  harmony  of  existence." 
Thus  there  is  good  ground  for  the  poet's  conviction : 

"  Natur  hat  weder  Kern  noch  Schale, 

Alles  ist  sie  zu  einem  Male," l 
and 

"  Wir  denken,  Ort  fur  Ort 
Sind  wir  im  Innern." 3 

Such  a  conviction  does,  indeed,  distinguish  between  the 
truth  of  art  and  the  reality  of  nature,  but  the  new  reality  built 
up  by  art  does  not  cut  itself  loose  from  things;  rather,  it  con- 
stitutes their  innermost,  essential  nature,  to  which  we  can  win 
only  through  a  deepening  of  first  impressions.  Since,  according 
to  this  conception,  art  is  everywhere  extricating  the  pure  form, 
the  central  reality,  from  that  which  conceals  and  disfigures  it, 
it  is  able  to  penetrate  the  whole  of  life  and  disclose  to  it  its  own 
true  nature. 

It  is  precisely  because  Goethe  regards  art  in  this  way  as  the 
soul  of  life  that  he  never  brings  art  into  collision  with  morality, 
or  upholds  an  aesthetic  culture  and  philosophy  at  the  cost  of  the 
ethical.  It  is  true  that  art  should  be  independent  and  that  the 
culture  which  art  gives  should  follow  its  own  free  course. 
Neither  poets  nor  any  other  human  beings  are  to  have  their 
freedom  fettered  by  "conventional  morals"  or  by  "pedantry 

1 "  Nor  husk  nor  kernel  Nature  hath, 

Everything  at  once  is  she. " 
*  "  We  think,  and  are  ourselves  the  space 

Where  our  mind  travels." 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        473 

and  prejudice."  But,  like  all  great  artists,  Goethe  cannot  hold 
artistic  work  in  such  high  esteem  as  to  find  in  it  the  very  soul  of 
his  life,  without  at  the  same  time  seeing  its  ethical  aspect  and 
making  ethical  and  artistic  culture  mutually  complementary. 
In  any  work  of  art  it  is  always  the  truth  and  nothing  but  the 
truth  which  is  held  worthy  of  honour.  The  demons  of  self- 
conceit,  hypocrisy  and  factiousness  must  be  banished  from  its 
precincts.  Thus  creative  art  itself  assumes  a  moral  character. 
And  what  is  true  of  individual  works  of  art  is  equally  true  of 
life  as  a  whole.  Inasmuch  as  it  has  the  power  to  draw  out  clearly 
and  forcibly  all  the  active  possibilities  of  a  man's  nature,  to 
develop  his  distinctive  individuality  and  rate  his  capacity  at  its 
true  value — it  is  in  itself  the  greatest  of  all  works  of  art.  But 
this  vital  shaping  of  the  individual  demands  so  much  self- 
knowledge,  self -limitation,  self-conquest,  such  a  spirit  of  resig- 
nation and  submission,  that  we  cannot  fail  to  discern  in  it  also 
a  moral  task  of  the  most  strenuous  kind. 

Finally,  it  is  through  creative  art  that  man  comes  to  realise 
personally  his  membership  of  a  divine  and  universal  Order  and 
to  be  penetrated  and  dominated  by  the  realisation.  The  work 
of  art  requires  a  religious  disposition,  since  it  demands  a  pure 
and  innocent  contemplation  of  the  object  amounting  even  to  an 
actual  reverence  for  it.  "He  who  will  not  begin  with  wonder 
and  admiration  will  never  find  entrance  into  the  Holy  of  Holies." 
For  his  discoveries,  his  syntheses,  his  happy  inspirations,  the 
artist  has  to  thank  not  his  own  reflections  but  a  Superior  Power. 
On  the  pile  of  wood  heaped  up  with  care  and  toil,  the  lightning 
from  above  must  descend  if  the  flame  is  to  leap  up  clear  and 
bright.  All  real  success  comes  in  this  way.  Let  it  be  received 
joyfully  and  gratefully  honoured  as  a  gift  of  grace.  In  truth, 
a  mood  of  joyful  gratitude  pervades  all  Goethe's  life  and  work. 
And  with  it  goes  a  firm  trust  in  a  Reason  at  the  heart  of  things, 
a  faith  born  of  confidence  in  a  great,  mighty  and  inscrutable 
Being,  and  felt  as  a  strong  sense  of  security  against  all  present 
and  future  emergencies.  This  is  the  source  whence  springs  that 
sentiment  "  which  none  brings  with  him  into  the  world,  but  on 


474  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

which  it  entirely  depends  whether  or  not  a  man  shall  be  in  all 
respects  a  man" — the  sentiment  of  reverence. 

This  final  note  brings  Goethe's  philosophy  of  life  back  again 
to  its  starting-point;  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  it  was  just 
this  intimacy  with  the  great  Universal  Life  that  gave  the  key- 
note to  his  whole  system.  But,  in  the  interval,  what  rich  and 
varied  forms  has  life  assumed!  What  new  depths  of  reality 
have  been  sounded!  There  has  been  no  sharp  break  with  the 
world  of  immediacy,  and  yet  existence  has  been  purified,  enno- 
bled, brought  back  to  its  true  centre.  It  is  the  crowning  great- 
ness of  Goethe's  genius  that  with  a  perfectly  open  and  free  mind 
he  gathered  in  all  the  rich  variety  of  being  and  doing,  and  with 
quiet  but  strong  hand  stripped  off  the  husk  of  sham,  convention 
and  prejudice,  so  as  to  bring  to  full  maturing  all  that  was  true, 
vital  and  genuinely  human.  Life  is  purified  and  exalted.  From 
seeming  we  turn  to  being.  Reality  is  invested  with  a  new  spir- 
itual dignity.  Possessions  which  humanity  has  owned  from 
time  immemorial  become  new  and  effective  as  ever,  while  all  the 
spurious  growths  that  have  clung  around  them  fall  away  and 
allow  their  true  nature  to  appear.  And  with  this  added  pro- 
fundity, life  also  gains  an  inward  freedom,  a  capacity  to  work 
from  within.  It  is  this  inward  freedom  that  Goethe  regarded  as 
the  fountain-head  of  his  creative  activity,  an  inexhaustible 
source  of  life  welling  up  for  man's  refreshment.  Who  can  gain- 
say him  when  he  says:  "The  man  who  has  learnt  to  understand 
my  writings  and  my  general  mode  of  thought  will  have  to  admit 
that  he  has  won  a  certain  inward  freedom." 

(7)  SCHILLER 

Schiller's  view  of  life  has  not  the  breadth,  the  independence, 
the  wealth  of  experience,  which  characterise  Goethe's;  but  it  is 
noteworthy  for  its  vigorous  concentration.  Though  surrounded 
by  illustrious  friends,  Schiller  strikes  out  an  original  line  of  his 
own  and  pursues  it  with  extraordinary  force  and  intensity.  In 
the  literary  circle  of  his  age  he  is  before  all  else  the  man  of 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        475 

action  and  of  deeds.  It  is  this  character  which,  stamped  as  it  is 
on  all  his  work,  makes  him  by  far  the  greatest  German  drama- 
tist, lends  to  his  scientific  expositions  a  well-knit  structure,  a 
power  of  antithesis,  a  dramatic  movement — and,  finally,  directs 
his  philosophical  thought  mainly  to  ethical  problems,  making 
him  an  enthusiastic  supporter  of  Kant's  doctrine  of  freedom. 
He  is  in  close  and  complete  sympathy  with  Kant's  exaltation  of 
man  above  the  mechanical  system  of  nature,  with  his  manner 
of  arousing  him  to  a  proud  consciousness  of  membership  in  an 
Unseen  Order.  And  since,  in  the  passionate  soul  of  the  poet, 
the  Kantian  ideas  put  off  their  scholastic  garb  and  step  close  to 
the  immediacy  of  feeling,  they  reveal  to  the  full  their  emanci- 
pating and  elevating  power.  Kant's  harsh  severity  is  softened; 
a  new  joy  is  brought  into  our  mood,  a  larger  gladness  into  life, 
and  yet  there  is  no  forfeiture  of  earnestness,  nor  any  tendency  to 
indulge  in  the  trifling,  into  which  at  times  even  a  Goethe  could 
lapse. 

This  earnestness,  however,  and  this  deep  note  of  ethical  con- 
viction are  accompanied  by  an  intense  desire  to  fashion  life 
artistically,  and  so  bring  the  good  into  closest  relation  with  the 
beautiful.  The  forms  under  which  this  rapprochement  is 
attempted  are  indeed  open  to  objection,  and  at  different  periods 
of  his  life  Schiller  gave  a  somewhat  different  rendering  of  the 
relation  of  the  good  to  the  beautiful:  but  both  were  always 
conceived  on  a  grand  scale,  and  it  was  always  the  whole  life  that 
was  to  profit  by  their  union.  The  morally-good  is  never  de- 
graded to  a  mere  aggregate  of  isolated  precepts,  but  always 
signifies  a  new  manner  of  being,  a  translation  into  a  new  world. 
It  is  never  a  mere  negation,  but  before  everything  else,  a  strong 
and  glad  assertion.  The  beautiful,  on  the  other  hand,  as  "free- 
dom in  its  phenomenal  form,"  is  anything  but  a  mere  occasional 
means  of  enjoyment.  It  effects  a  real  ennoblement  of  life;  it  is 
an  indispensable  constituent  of  all  true  culture.  If  history  in 
general  is  always  showing  the  ethical  and  the  artistic  ideals  as 
in  dire  opposition  to  each  other,  we  have  all  the  more  reason  to 
welcome  as  something  great  and  remarkable  Schiller's  attempt 


476  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

not  merely  to  reconcile  them,  but  to  prove  them  mutually  indis- 
pensable allies.  "The  exalted  purity  of  his  moral  outlook,  in 
conjunction  with  the  fullest  recognition  of  the  freedom  of  artistic 
endeavour,  is  the  peculiarity — nay,  more,  the  sole  peculiarity — 
of  Schiller's  thought"  (KUhnemann). 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Schiller  to  transcend  these 
oppositions,  had  he  not  entertained  exalted  notions  of  humanity 
and  human  nature,  had  he  not  been  possessed  with  the  idea  of 
a  spiritual  culture  leavening  and  uplifting  our  whole  being. 
The  belief  of  the  age  in  man's  greatness  and  dignity  has  nowhere 
found  nobler  expression  than  in  Schiller.  The  thought  of  hu- 
manity gives  a  glow  to  all  his  conceptions  and  welds  firmly  to- 
gether all  his  varied  effort.  But  Schiller,  no  less  than  Kant,  is 
very  far  from  any  light-hearted  idealisation  of  man  as  he  is.  It 
is  rather  the  Idea  of  Reason — an  idea  which  is  indeed  vitally 
operative  in  each  individual — that  first  gives  value  to  man. 
A  fact  of  this  kind  is  not  merely  a  fact;  it  is  something  we  must 
always  be  achieving.  Man  must  first  discover  his  own  nature 
and  struggle  to  realise  it,  summoning  every  faculty  to  the  task. 
Schiller,  moreover,  has  no  idea  of  representing  the  average 
human  lot  as  good,  or  even  as  tolerable.  He  describes  the  un- 
reason in  nature  and  history  with  an  almost  harsh  realism, 
closely  bordering  on  a  gloomy  pessimism.  If  he  never  falls  into 
this  pessimism,  but  continues  to  preach  joy  in  the  face  of  all  that 
is  dark  and  gloomy,  this  is  not  because  he  has  come  to  terms  with 
the  world,  but  because  he  has  risen  above  it  into  an  unseen  realm 
of  the  reason  in  which  the  self  is  independent  and  superior  to 
the  world,  where  he  can  find  realisations  of  good  that  make 
those  of  our  world  of  immediacy  dwindle  by  comparison  into 
mere  nothingness.  It  is  this  combination  of  happy  trust  with 
a  full  recognition  of  the  irrationality  of  our  immediate  existence 
that  gives  to  Schiller's  thought  such  power  to  stir  our  emotion 
on  the  one  hand,  and  steel  us  to  endurance  on  the  other.  From 
his  thought  and  life  there  breathes  a  heroic  mood,  an  invincible 
youthfulness,  a  strong  incentive  to  personal  conflict  and  victory. 
Goethe  could  confess  with  gratitude  that  Schiller  had  called  him 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        477 

back  from  a  too  exclusive  contemplation  of  outward  things  and 
their  relations  to  his  inmost  self,  and  made  him  young  again. 
In  like  manner,  Schiller  has  exercised  an  emancipating,  uplift- 
ing, rejuvenating  influence  over  the  whole  German  nation,  an 
influence  which  will  grow  and  widen,  despite  all  changes  that 
time  may  bring. 

(8)   THE  ROMANTIC  MOVEMENT 

A  detailed  delineation  of  the  Romantic  movement  lies  outside 
the  scope  of  our  work.  But  its  effect  on  life,  no  less  than  on 
philosophy,  has  been  too  significant  to  justify  our  passing  it  over 
in  silence.  Let  us  endeavour,  then,  as  well  as  we  can,  to  select 
from  the  motley  crowd  of  personalities  and  the  swift  succession 
of  historical  phases  a  few  characteristic  features. 

A  critical  treatment  of  the  Romantic  movement  is  difficult,  if 
only  on  account  of  its  great  complexity.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
strongly  subjective — the  product  of  an  age  which  can  no  longer 
strike  a  balance  between  the  work  done  and  the  mind  that  does 
it,  between  object  and  subject,  an  age  whose  subjective  tend- 
encies can  no  longer  find  satisfaction  in  the  tasks  which  are 
commended  to  it.  What  other  resource  has  it  but  to  turn  in- 
ward upon  itself,  severing  itself  as  far  as  possible  from  outside 
things,  and  finding  in  its  own  development  some  prospect  of 
at  last  giving  meaning  to  life?  But  the  mere  adoption  of  the 
subjective  stand-point  is  not  sufficient  to  produce  a  romantic 
movement.  In  the  sphere  of  religion,  for  instance,  a  mystic, 
emotional  life  might  grow  up  which  would  have,  at  the  most, 
only  a  few  points  in  common  with  Romanticism.  An  essential 
element  in  Romanticism  is  the  relation  to  art,  the  development 
of  an  artistic  plan  of  life.  The  Subject,  which  would  otherwise 
become  a  mere  empty  name,  finds  its  task  and  its  enjoyment  in 
giving  its  subjectivity  artistic  expression,  shaping  personal  expe- 
rience into  a  work  of  art,  the  enjoyment  of  which  is,  therefore, 
really  self-enjoyment.  This  attempt  is,  from  the  outset,  involved 
in  a  contradiction.  For  since  man's  spiritual  life  can  only  be 


478  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

developed  in  contact  with  the  universe,  it  is  impossible  for  him 
to  abstract  it  from  this  and,  starting  from  a  merely  individualistic 
centre,  weave  his  inward  states  into  a  valuable  work  of  art. 
No  amount  of  talent  or  genius  on  the  part  of  individuals  can 
overcome  this  inner  inconsistency  and  produce  a  great,  pure, 
true  artistic  creation.  But  even  movements  that  aim  at  the  im- 
possible may  have  important  results  if  they  serve  to  elicit  new 
powers:  much  of  undoubted  value  has  been  reached  in  the 
course  of  striving  after  the  unattainable.  And  thus  Roman- 
ticism, in  following  after  the  mirage  of  a  subjectivism  made 
supreme  through  the  help  of  art,  did  conspicuous  service  in 
intensifying  the  depth  and  susceptibility  of  man's  spiritual 
nature,  besides  originating  much  fruitful  work  in  other  directions. 

Romanticism  in  Germany  found  a  great  artistic  movement 
already  in  progress;  but,  by  bringing  the  Subject  into  stronger 
relief,  it  made  the  new  literary  and  philosophical  life  more  self- 
conscious,  definite  and  independent.  All  that  savoured  of 
idiosyncrasy  in  German  Humanism  was  brought  out  and  inten- 
sified till  it  became  downright  one-sidedness.  Art — the  word 
being  applied  chiefly  to  literary  creation — now  appears  to  be  the 
only  thing  worth  having  in  life.  ^Estheticism  in  theory  and 
practice  is  preached  with  audacious  exclusiveness.  The  alliance 
between  art  and  morality  is  dissolved.  The  highly  gifted  indi- 
vidual scorns  to  be  bound  down  by  convention,  and,  in  virtue 
of  his  artistic  faculty  and  fine  taste,  believes  himself  infinitely 
superior  to  the  rest  of  mankind. 

Thus  all  the  doubtful  elements  of  a  purely  artistic  culture  are 
brought  out  and  emphasised.  On  the  other  hand,  many  advan- 
tages accrue  from  the  heightened  consciousness  of  the  self  and 
the  increased  freedom  of  movement.  The  Romanticists  felt  that 
they  were  the  pioneers  of  a  new  era;  they  were  the  first  to  win 
full  recognition  for  its  peculiarities,  and  it  was  they  who  intro- 
duced the  idea  of  "  culture,"  which  was  new  to  Germany  in  this 
sense.  They  were  even  the  first  to  dignify  the  term  "culture" 
by  using  it  to  designate  an  intellectual  state.  They  levelled 
their  attack  on  the  Enlightenment  with  a  masterly  cleverness 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        479 

and  wit,  which  dealt  a  fatal  blow  to  its  popularity  with  the  "pub- 
lic. They  raised  literary  reflection  and  criticism  in  Germany 
to  a  degree  of  eminence  and  power  hitherto  undreamt  of.  In 
all  these  respects  they  did  indeed  effect  the  introduction  of  a 
new  mode  of  thought. 

In  so  far,  however,  as  they  undertook  creative  work  along 
original  lines,  they  were  mainly  absorbed  with  developing  their 
subjective  states  and  giving  artistic  shape  to  the  vague  in- 
definiteness  of  feeling.  The  objective  element  in  the  work 
became  in  the  process  the  mere  means  or  tool  for  showing  up 
subjective  capacity.  The  object  had  its  sole  raison  d'etre  in  the 
service  of  self-feeling,  while  even  this  self-feeling  consisted  less 
in  the  feeling  of  actual  impressions  than  in  an  endless  brooding 
over  feelings  already  experienced.  Thus  the  Romanticists  be- 
came more  and  more  wedded  to  their  own  inner  states;  they 
wished  to  re-perceive  their  perceptions,  re-enjoy  their  enjoy- 
ments. The  reflection  is  reflected  again  and  yet  again,  until 
all  content  and  substance  is  thinned  out  of  experience.  Life  is 
over-refined  and  over-etherealised ;  retreating  ever  further  and 
further  into  a  shadowy  background,  it  loses  all  its  simplicity  and 
haply  its  truth. 

But  amid  all  these  dangers  and  errors  there  is  much  that  is 
fresh  and  valuable  in  the  new  order  of  life.  The  individual 
calls  on  his  creative  genius  to  assert  its  full  sovereignty,  bidding 
it  exercise  the  fullest  freedom  in  the  choice  both  of  form  and 
material.  The  imagination  scorns  all  fetters  and  barriers:  at 
all  costs  it  must  escape  from  the  everyday  prose  of  life,  and 
struggle  out  of  its  immediate  environment  into  the  vast  world 
of  the  unknown,  into  a  new  realm  full  of  marvel  and  magic. 
The  poetry  of  legend  grows  up,  a  delight  in  mystery  and  ad- 
venture, in  dawn,  and  dusk,  and  dreams.  It  even  seems  as 
though  our  world  had  points  of  contact  with  another  loftier 
world  of  mysterious  powers,  a  world  inaccessible  to  sober  reason, 
but  making  known  its  presence  by  hints  and  tokens.  Thus 
our  whole  life  assumes  a  symbolic  character.  In  their  essence, 
things  are  more  and  better  than  they  seem.  The  unconscious 


480  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

is  not  considered  as  a  lower  stage,  but  as  the  primeval  fount 
of  life.  This  view  is  liable  to  take  a  morbid  turn.  It  wel- 
comes with  sympathy  everything  opposed  to  simplicity  and 
naturalness.  The  more  paradoxical  the  assertion,  the  more  the 
picture  is  inverted,  the  more  significant  does  it  appear.  For 
Novalis,  Romanticism  consists  in  giving  a  mysterious  aspect  to 
ordinary  things,  the  dignity  of  the  unknown  to  the  known,  an 
illusion  of  infinity  to  the  finite.  Still  the  longing  to  escape 
from  a  petty,  everyday  atmosphere — so  natural  in  the  German 
of  that  age  of  provincialism — opened  man's  eyes  to  new  aspects 
of  reality.  It  is  the  Romanticists  who  aroused  a  taste  for  the 
poetry  of  the  forest  and  of  moonlight,  for  the  charm  of  historical, 
and  particularly  of  patriotic,  reminiscences.  It  is  they  who,  by 
suffusing  the  natural  and  historical  environment  with  their 
own  emotion,  brought  it  spiritually  near  to  us. 

The  opening  up  of  new  material  went  hand-in-hand  with  an 
increased  range  and  nicety  of  expression.  The  Romanticists 
are  mainly  concerned  with  giving  shape  to  their  vague  and 
fleeting  moods,  bringing  them  as  much  as  possible  into  the 
foreground  of  consciousness,  arresting  them  on  the  wing,  as  it 
were,  reducing  their  chaos  to  form.  This  conception  of  the 
artistic  function  gives  rise  to  much  trifling  and  exaggeration. 
But  the  attempt  to  portray  the  immediacies  of  the  soul's  life 
had  at  least  this  good  effect:  it  brought  every  power  into  play, 
with  the  result  that  a  highly  individual  style  was  developed  and 
the  resources  of  expression  were  vastly  increased.  There  is 
more  softness  and  richness,  soul  and  resonance;  the  language 
becomes  more  plastic  and  supple;  the  tone  and  rhythm  gain 
swing  and  lilt;  they  are  full  of  music  and  alight  with  colour.  The 
most  delicate  feelings  can  be  described  with  exquisite  accuracy, 
particularly  those  intermediate  shades  of  sentiment  which  tend 
to  merge  into  each  other.  They  are  caught  and  fixed  in  all 
their  vague  fluctuation  and  floating  uncertainty;  and  over  all 
the  creations  of  art  a  tender  fragrance  is  diffused.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  a  corresponding  incapacity  for  bold  design 
and  systematic  construction.  There  is  a  tendency  toward  the 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        481 

fragmentary  and  aphoristic;  nor  is  there  any  desire  to  avoid  it. 
Logical  consistency  indeed  is  looked  on  as  an  actual  evil.  This, 
therefore,  was  no  soil  for  masterpieces  of  the  highest  order. 
And  yet  all  the  further  developments  of  German  literature, 
even  the  very  revolt  from  Romanticism,  took  advantage  of  the 
greater  wealth  of  expression  which  had  resulted  from  its 
labours. 

The  Romantic  movement  provokes  the  full  strength  of  our 
opposition  only  when  it  takes  that  which  has  in  art  a  certain 
justification  and  makes  it  fill  and  dominate  life  to  the  exclusion 
of  everything  else.  It  then  becomes  evident  that  the  unfettered 
expansion  of  feeling  is  unable  to  give  a  satisfactory  meaning  to 
life;  that  the  "infinitely  free  subjectivity"  lacks  steadiness  and 
virile  force;  that  the  vain  mirroring  of  self  and  love  of  abstrac- 
tion are  a  wearisome  burden;  and  finally,  that  the  contempt  for 
morality,  usually  characteristic  of  this  school,  together  with  its 
incapacity  to  picture  morality  save  in  caricature,  is  merely  a 
sign  of  its  own  shallowness.  It  becomes  ever  more  and  more 
obvious  that  this  vague  subjectivity  lacks  spiritual  depth  and 
that  there  is  not  much  substance  beneath  all  the  shimmer  and 
sparkle.  As  the  movement  develops,  it  is  seen  to  be  ever  more 
slight  and  worthless,  more  and  more  involved  in  subtleties  of 
barren  sentiment.  This  is  why  some  of  its  prominent  repre- 
sentatives have  had  in  the  end  to  resort  to  external  supports  and 
submit  to  some  form  of  ecclesiastical  authority,  not  indeed 
without  casting  about  it  a  halo  of  romance  in  ways  quite  foreign 
to  the  historical  spirit.  How  was  it  possible  for  strong  and  up- 
right personalities  to  grow  up  in  such  an  atmosphere? 

It  is,  however,  only  the  extreme  type  of  Romanticism  which 
has  thus  preyed  upon  itself.  The  movement  also  assumed  a 
more  moderate  form  in  which  it  proved  very  fruitful  and  stimu- 
lating. The  modification  consists  in  this,  that  the  subject  does 
not  maintain  an  attitude  of  direct  opposition  to  things,  but 
comes  back  to  them,  shares  with  them  its  own  deepened  spirit- 
uality, and  thus  endows  them  with  a  life  of  their  own.  It  is  true 
that  even  so  the  central  emphasis  still  rests  on  the  subject; 


482  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

things  do  not  reveal  their  own  soul,  as  Goethe  held,  but  rather 
receive  it  as  a  loan  from  man.  Still,  the  mere  subjective  mood 
does  get  some  kind  of  counterpoise  in  things,  while  these  again 
are  grasped  in  a  more  living  fashion  and  brought  inwardly 
nearer  to  us.  It  is  from  this  point  of  view  in  particular  that 
history  has  gained  such  significance,  history  in  its  most  various 
branches :  the  history  of  home  and  nationality,  custom  and  law, 
language,  art,  and  religion.  The  movement  of  history  is  through- 
out represented  as  charged  with  its  own  life,  independent  of  all 
human  reflection.  A  quiet  process  of  growth  is  at  work  in  it; 
great  systems  arise  which  embrace  and  unite  all  diverse  elements 
after  the  manner  of  an  organism.  It  is  not  for  man  to  control 
and  regulate  historical  results  according  to  his  own  views;  he 
must  rather  adjust  himself  to  them  and  follow  their  lead.  Law 
and  State  come  to  be  conceived  organically;  the  modern  idea  of 
nationality  arises  with  its  stimulating,  quickening,  and  some- 
times dangerous  power.  The  work  of  the  individual  is  linked 
throughout  with  the  work  of  his  predecessors.  We  have  indeed 
left  the  eighteenth  century  far  behind !  But  on  closer  inspection 
we  cannot  fail  to  be  conscious  of  an  inner  inconsistency.  The 
inward  life,  the  organic  connection  which  seem  so  independent 
of  man  and  his  thinking,  so  securely  rooted  in  things  them- 
selves, are  really  after  all  read  into  them  by  man.  Our  relations 
are  not  with  the  object  as  it  is,  but  with  the  revised  version  of 
it  prepared  by  the  subject  himself. 

Yet  however  clearly  we  recognise  the  inconsistencies  of  the 
historical  tendency,  its  proneness  to  a  predominantly  passive 
attitude,  its  danger  of  paralysing  all  forceful,  vigorous  action, 
it  has  nevertheless  great  merits.  It  has  made  life  richer,  fuller, 
more  concrete,  and  has  sought  to  found  it  on  a  broader  basis. 
He  who  refuses  to  regard  the  movement  as  final  must  still 
recognise  its  widening,  enriching  effect  upon  life,  and  so  give 
Romanticism  its  due. 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        483 

(c)  German  Speculative  Tlwught  in  its  Relation  to  the  Problem 

of  Life 

The  great  systems  which  arise  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
and  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  must  be  interpreted 
in  the  light  of  their  age  and  purpose.  Otherwise  there  is  the 
aggravating  possibility  that  men  like  Schelling  and  Hegel,  with 
whom  even  a  Goethe  could  associate  on  equal  terms,  should  be 
regarded  as  mere  adventurers  in  the  kingdom  of  thought,  or 
even  as  half-insane.  There  will  be  no  danger  of  committing 
this  error  if  we  regard  them  as  the  offspring  of  an  age  which, 
in  revulsion  against  all  mere  systems  of  external  adjustment, 
sought  to  realise  a  self-contained,  spiritual  realm;  an  age  which 
had  the  highest  reverence  for  human  nature  and  its  possibilities, 
and  found  in  free  creation,  after  the  manner  of  art,  the  cul- 
minating glory  of  life.  Such  creation,  as  conceived  by  the 
leaders  of  philosophical  thought,  does  not  mean  the  fashioning 
of  a  self-spun  world  of  dreams  existing  side  by  side  with  the  real 
world ;  it  means  the  discovery  and  firm  grasp  of  the  essentials  of 
the  spiritual  life,  and  a  fruitful  concentration  on  these  central 
issues.  The  whole  reality  is  thereby  to  be  reclaimed  and 
spiritually  reillumined,  the  whole  world  drawn  into  the  one 
aspiring  movement  of  spiritual  life.  The  fundamental  ideas 
were  sound  enough;  the  defect  lay  rather  in  the  hasty  and 
almost  presumptuous  manner  in  which  they  were  carried  out. 
With  one  bold  stroke  the  heart  of  reality  was  to  be  reached, 
and  man's  spiritual  life  regarded  as  absolute.  This  implied  an 
unduly  narrow  and  anthropomorphic  conception  of  reality.  Not 
only  did  the  much-abused  world  of  sense  protest  against  it, 
but  the  spiritual  life  itself  refused  to  submit  to  so  summary  a 
procedure.  It  was  indeed  mainly  in  the  spiritual  interest  that 
a  counter-movement  became  necessary,  a  reaction  against  this 
over-tension  of  our  human  capacity.  But  however  true  it  is 
that  the  problem  requires  to  be  treated  upon  a  broader  basis 
and  with  greater  circumspection,  we  yet  must  admit  a  peculiar 
value  in  these  bold,  cosmological  speculations,  which  cast  all 


484  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

their  creations  in  one  mould,  match  personality  against  the 
universe,  and  give  so  vigorous  and  characteristic  an  interpreta- 
tion of  reality.  Not  only  do  they  contain  a  boundless  wealth 
of  suggestion  and  inspiration  on  this  point  and  on  that,  but  they 
give  our  whole  thought  a  trend  toward  largeness  and  systematic 
unity.  He  who  submits  himself  without  prejudice  to  the  influ- 
ence of  these  men  with  their  trenchant,  thoroughly  individual 
and  characteristic  style,  will  be  clearly  conscious  of  the  superior- 
ity of  their  reasoning  to  all  the  clever  argumentation  of  those 
smaller  minds  that  follow  in  the  wake  of  genius,  and  are  so 
much  stronger  in  criticism  than  in  construction. 

From  among  these  leaders  we  shall  select  here  Fichte,  Schel- 
ling,  Hegel,  Schleiermacher,  and  Schopenhauer.  The  four  first, 
whatever  their  differences,  agree  in  giving  a  positive  value  to 
the  world,  viewing  it  as  an  expression  of  Reason,  while  Schopen- 
hauer is  equally  decided  in  viewing  it  negatively  as  a  realm  of 
Unreason.  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel  make  a  bold  attempt 
to  reproduce  in  the  form  of  an  unbroken  evolution  of  thought 
the  very  way  in  which  the  cosmos  came  into  being,  in  a  word, 
to  "construct"  the  world;  while  Schleiermacher  pursues  the 
same  object  in  a  quieter,  more  circumspect,  and,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, less  forcible  manner.  The  most  important  philosophical 
expression  of  nineteenth  century  culture  is  found  in  Hegel,  and 
it  is  he,  therefore,  who  will  occupy  our  main  attention. 

(a)   SYSTEMS  OF    CONSTRUCTIVE   THOUGHT 

Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  despite  their  differences,  are  yet 
all  three  sharers  in  a  common  movement:  one  fundamental  con- 
viction underlies  all  their  work.  To  understand  this  conviction, 
we  must  go  back  to  Kant,  particularly  to  his  discovery  of  spirit- 
ual syntheses  and  the  organic  character  of  spiritual  life,  with 
which  is  bound  up  the  development  of  a  "transcendental" 
method  in  philosophy,  as  distinguished  from  the  experiential. 
Kant  himself  had  assigned  very  definite  limitations  to  this 
method  and  used  it  only  under  clearly  specified  conditions. 


I 

THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        485 

His  successors  were  bolder.  Full  of  the  fresh  energy  of  youthful 
aspiration,  thrown  back  upon  themselves  by  the  ferment  of  the 
time  in  which  they  lived,  they  aspired  to  see  thought  free  from 
all  such  limitations  and  to  make  it  the  centre,  the  growing-point, 
of  reality.  It  seemed  to  them  that  they  had  only  to  exert  all 
their  strength  in  order  to  draw  to  themselves — or  rather  draw 
from  themselves — the  whole  infinite  universe. 

The  spiritual  life,  however,  cannot  be  required  to  undertake 
creative  work  on  this  vast  scale,  unless  the  ordinary  conception 
of  it  be  materially  widened.  It  cannot  be  the  possession  of  this 
or  that  individual:  it  must  cut  itself  loose  from  individuals  and 
establish  an  independent  existence  of  its  own.  There  is  an  ever- 
increasing  tendency  for  it  to  become  a  self-governing  realm, 
requiring  man's  fealty  and  submission,  not  swayed  by  any  pur- 
poses of  his,  but  simply  by  its  own  necessities.  At  the  same 
time,  it  can  no  longer  rest  in  its  own  perfections,  but  must  make 
continual  progress,  develop  under  the  inspiration  of  its  inward 
forces,  be  ever  moving  upward  in  unresting,  steady  advance. 
It  is  a  process  which  draws  in  the  whole  of  reality,  and  is 
therefore  essentially  alive  and  plastic.  History  in  particular, 
as  the  anvil  on  which  spiritual  life  is  forged,  gains  an  added 
significance.  Moreover,  the  upward  movement  is  soon  seen  to 
be  subject  to  one  simple  and  fundamental  law,  which  is  that 
progress  is  made  through  the  development  and  transcendence 
of  oppositions.  In  the  ascent  of  the  spiritual  life,  each  assertion 
at  once  gives  rise  to  a  negation;  from  their  conflict  a  synthesis 
emerges.  More  antitheses  and  syntheses  follow,  and  again 
more,  till  at  last  all  reality  is  embraced  by  the  movement  and 
transmuted  into  the  life  of  thought  and  spirit. 

As  the  spiritual  life  thus  becomes  independent  of  man,  the 
outlook  and  problem  of  human  experience  undergo  essential 
changes.  At  the  outset,  the  spiritual  process  was  still  closely 
connected  with  man  and  directly  influenced  by  his  feeling.  He 
was  the  sovereign  lord  of  things,  able,  so  he  thought,  by  a 
supreme  exercise  of  his  powers,  to  conjure  forth  the  whole  of 
reality.  But  in  proportion  as  the  spiritual  life  develops  into  a 


486  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

self-governing  kingdom  independent  of  man,  in  proportion  as 
man  is  obliged  to  submit  to  its  laws  and  recognise  a  sphere  of 
fact  in  which  he  can  have  no  initiative,  its  processes  pass  more 
and  more  out  of  the  control  of  the  immediate  psychical  ex- 
perience. If  through  all  these  phases  spiritual  activity  is  still 
the  essence  of  reality,  its  position  with  regard  to  man,  and 
therefore  its  relation  to  reality,  is  none  the  less  entirely  changed, 
and  there  is  a  corresponding  change  in  the  way  of  regarding 
and  treating  the  various  activities  of  life. 

The  three  leaders  of  the  movement,  Fichte,  Schelling,  and 
Hegel,  are  not  to  be  figured  as  the  mere  stages  of  one  continuous 
process  culminating  in  Hegel;  each  of  these  thinkers  seeks  in  a 
different  direction  for  the  essence  of  spiritual  life  and  thought. 
For  Fichte,  thought  is  a  kind  of  moral  action  which  subdues  the 
world  to  lofty  ends;  for  Schelling,  it  is  an  artistic  construction, 
changing  reality  within  and  without  us  into  a  living  work  of 
art;  with  Hegel,  we  see  thought  spontaneously  unfold  a  pro- 
cess of  strict,  logical  dialectic,  embracing  all  that  the  world  in 
its  evolution  has  achieved,  and  reaching  its  consummation  in 
the  thought  of  thought.  Each  looks  at  the  world  in  his  own 
way;  each  emphasises  different  spheres  and  different  problems; 
each  has  his  peculiar  mental  atmosphere.  Together  they  have 
made  so  rich  a  contribution  to  human  life,  provided  such  a 
wealth  of  suggestion  and  inspiration,  that,  though  their  influ- 
ence may  at  times  be  obscured  or  disregarded,  it  can  never  suffer 
permanent  eclipse. 

(aa)  Fichte  (1762-1814). — Fichte's  thought  is  pre-eminently 
an  expression  of  his  personality,  a  wrestling  with  the  problem  of 
his  own  being.  His  natural  bias  was  all  in  favour  of  forceful  self- 
expression;  but  so  long  as  Spinoza's  influence  compelled  him  to 
see  in  man  a  mere  link  in  a  rigidly  causal  sequence,  he  was 
unable  to  strike  out  for  himself  along  congenial  lines.  From 
this  position  of  painful  uncertainty  he  found  a  means  of  escape 
in  the  Kantian  system  with  its  emphasis  on  the  subject,  its 
transformation  of  causality  from  a  cosmic  law  into  a  function 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        487 

of  the  mind,  its  exaltation  of  the  practical  reason.  His  adhesion 
to  Kant,  however,  leads  directly  to  a  further  advance  upon 
Kant's  position.  Fichte  would  make  the  activity  of  the  self 
supreme  in  the  theoretical  as  well  as  in  the  practical  field,  and 
consequently  the  Kantian  exclusion  of  this  activity  from  the 
noumenal  world  comes  to  be  felt  as  an  intolerable  dualism:  the 
"Thing-in-Itself"  must  be  given  up  once  and  for  all.  The 
practical  reasom  is  made  the  root  of  all  reason.  Action  is  in- 
volved in  thought  itself,  possessing  as  it  does  the  power  to 
quicken  and  illuminate  reality.  We  may  confidently  undertake 
to  educe  the  whole  world  out  of  our  own  activity  and  thus  bring 
it  entirely  within  our  power.  Throughout  our  lives  we  are  con- 
fronted with  an  Either-Or,  with  a  choice  between  freedom  and 
non-freedom.  Throughout  it  concerns  us  to  base  our  existence 
upon  our  own  deeds,  i.  e.,  to  rest  it  upon  clear  ideas,  and  to 
shape  it  in  accordance  with  these  ideas.  Never  must  we  blindly 
obey  regulations  externally  imposed,  never  trust  to  mere  au- 
thority and  tradition,  but  our  own  deed  must  be  at  the  back  of 
everything,  and  we  ourselves  must  be  part  of  all  our  work. 
The  adoption  of  the  stand-point  of  freedom  exercises  the  pro- 
foundest  influence  on  state,  society  and  religion.  Everywhere  men 
are  shaken  out  of  their  old  ruts  and  their  lazy  acquiescence,  every- 
where summoned  to  manly  independence  and  a  rational  ordering 
of  life.  Culture  is  now  the  goal  of  all  life's  energies,  culture  in  the 
sense  of  "  the  bending  of  every  power  to  secure  complete  freedom, 
complete  independence  of  all  that  is  not  truly  ourselves." 

The  stirring,  urgent  quality  of  his  appeal  makes  us  think  of 
Fichte  as  a  very  strong,  tempestuous  nature;  but  his  effort  is 
directed  primarily  not  outward,  but  inward.  He  aims  at  an 
inner  concentration  and  a  searching  self-criticism,  at  attaining 
independence  both  of  life  and  thought.  His  work  is  primarily  a 
scientific  construction,  a  philosophy;  and  only  later  is  it  applied 
systematically  to  life.  For  "  the  power  which  really  enslaves  man 
is  false  illusion";  therefore  we  are  told  that  "to  live  truly  is  to 
think  truly  and  to  know  the  truth."  Moreover,  our  activity, 
v/hen  turned  inward  upon  itself,  finds  in  the  depth  of  its  own 


488  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

nature  a  conformity  to  law.  All  action  is  motived  by  an  Ought, 
by  the  idea  of  Duty.  The  recognition  of  this  conformity  to  law 
gives  to  life  in  all  its  developments  a  severely  moral  character; 
its  nobleness  is  its  obligation,  its  obligations  give  it  nobility. 
Morality  does  not  make  man  small  and  weak,  but  big  and 
strong;  it  does  not  mean  that  life  is  hedged  about  by  troublesome 
police  regulations,  but  that  it  is  promoted  to  full  self-activity, 
originality,  freedom  from  the  bondage  of  the  world. 

Fichte  accordingly  implants  in  the  human  soul  strong  and 
fruitful  impulses,  which  have  had  no  small  effect  in  making  life 
— primarily  the  life  of  the  German  people — sound  and  healthful. 
He  is  not  so  successful,  however,  in  translating  these  impulses 
into  effective  action,  and  does  scant  justice  to  the  wealth  of 
reality.  However  admirable  the  energy  with  which  in  later 
years  he  spins  a  whole  world  out  of  the  Ego,  which  he  looks  upon 
as  a  source  of  perpetual  movement,  yet  this  world  is  unmistak- 
ably abstract  and  formal,  and  becomes  more  and  more  shadowy 
in  proportion  as  thought  gets  further  from  its  starting-point. 

Fichte  only  enters  into  closer  relationship  with  things  when 
for  him  the  Ego  has  become  the  Absolute  Life,  exalted  above 
all  individual  existence.  Even  so  we  are  still  concerned  with 
giving  a  reasonable  shape  to  reality  through  our  own  unwearied 
activity,  but  now  human  action  is  included  within  a  cosmic 
process,  and  we  must  find  our  right  relation  to  the  whole  before 
we  can  be  successful  at  any  particular  point.  Thus  life  assumes 
a  distinctly  religious  character;  we  have  the  development  of  a 
new  mysticism  which  bids  man  seize  on  the  "Eternal  One"  as 
that  which  alone  is  essential  in  his  individual  life  and  being. 

"Das  ewig  Eine 
Lebt  mirim  Leben,  sieht  in  meinem  Sehen."1 

But  however  inward  the  sentiment,  this  religion  remains  en- 
tirely a  religion  of  reason  and  the  living  present.  Fichte  cannot 
away  with  any  idle  tarrying  and  hoping  for  a  Beyond:  "through 
the  mere  process  of  being  buried  no  man  can  attain  blessedness." 

1(1  The  Eternal  One 

Lives  in  my  life,  the  light  of  all  my  seeing." 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        489 

Again,  he  will  have  no  intermixture  of  historical  dates  with  the 
necessary  truths  of  reason.  "We  may  not  say:  What  harm  is 
there  in  holding  to  this  historical  fact  also  ?  There  is  always 
harm  in  placing  accidentals  on  a  level  with  essentials,  or,  as  so 
often  happens,  in  passing  off  accidentals  as  essentials,  thereby 
obscuring  the  latter  and  troubling  men's  consciences." 

This  further  development  of  Fichte's  thought  gives  a  higher 
value  to  history  and  social  life.  History  is  now  regarded  as  the 
collective  work  of  humanity,  as  its  solution  of  the  problem  how 
to  give  to  reason,  which,  though  obscured  and  limited,  has 
always  been  operative  among  men,  a  thoroughly  clear  expres- 
sion and  a  foundation  in  personal  activity;  how  to  order  all  the 
relations  of  life  so  that  they  may  be  consistent  with  freedom 
and  yet  in  harmony  with  reason.  Especially  important  to 
Fichte — the  very  thinker  who  had  laid  it  down  as  the  aim  of  all 
government  "to  make  government  superfluous" — is  the  political 
community,  and  in  this  matter  his  thought  moves  through 
various  phases.  From  the  free  state  with  which  he  starts  he 
passes  first  to  the  "closed  industrial  state,"  whose  aim  is  to 
secure  economical  prosperity  to  all  its  members,  then  to  the 
state,  whose  main  watchword  is  civilisation,  whose  duty  it  is 
to  assist,  without  being  in  any  way  dictatorial,  every  kind  of 
spiritual  activity;  and  finally,  after  the  Prussian  overthrow  at 
Jena,  he  inclines  to  the  conception  of  a  national  state.  This  is 
the  first  time  that  the  idea  of  nationality  enters  within  the  phil- 
osophical purview,  and  we  must  therefore  explain  Fichte's 
position  with  regard  to  it  somewhat  more  closely.  Man,  he 
considers,  can  only  truly  love  that  which  he  can  conceive  as 
eternal  and  absorb  into  the  responsive  eternal  element  in  his 
own  heart;  thus  his  earthly  life  and  work  would  be  deficient  in 
genuine  love  and  power,  if  it  could  not  show  him  some  form  of 
solidarity  which  might  secure  continuity  to  his  effort  through 
all  ages  to  come.  Such  solidarity  he  can  find  only  in  his  own 
nation,  "that  particular  spiritual  offshoot  of  humanity  from 
which  he  himself  has  sprung,  with  all  his  thought  and  action, 
and  belief  in  these  as  eternal,  the  nation  which  gave  him  birth, 


490  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

educated  him,  and  made  him  what  he  is."  "This  national  in- 
dividuality is  the  Eternal,  to  which  he  entrusts  the  immortality 
of  his  life  and  work,  that  Eternal  Order  of  things  to  which  he 
confides  his  own  immortality;  he  cannot  but  desire  that  this 
individuality  should  continue,  since  only  so  can  the  short  span 
of  his  life  here  below  be  extended  even  here  below  into  a  life  of 
endless  duration."  A  man  who  thus  links  the  thought  of 
nationality  with  humanity's  very  highest  ideals  will  naturally 
lay  stress  not  on  external  power  and  expansion,  but  on  inward 
culture  and  a  strongly  marked  spiritual  temper.  Thus,  even  as 
a  politician,  Fichte  is  still  a  philosopher  and  continues  to  regard 
things  in  their  eternal  aspect.  German  life  and  character  he 
deems  especially  valuable,  because  in  it  he  seems  to  detect  a 
specially  strong  bias  toward  that  which  is  innermost  and  most 
elemental  in  man;  and  he  is  therefore  the  first  to  assign  to  the 
Germans  the  largest  share  among  the  nations  of  the  quality  we 
may  term  "heart."  Historical  evidence  of  this  he  finds  mainly 
in  the  Reformation,  in  the  German  philosophy  with  its  construc- 
tion of  reality  out  of  the  spiritual  activity  of  the  self,  and  in 
German  education  with  its  tendency  to  mould  man  from 
within. 

Fichte  was  a  man  of  few,  though  great,  ideas,  and  even  in 
regard  to  these  few  ideas,  his  skill  lay  in  framing  the  general 
conception  rather  than  in  carefully  elaborating  it.  Born,  how- 
ever, in  an  age  which  was  as  critical  for  the  life  of  culture  gen- 
erally as  it  was  for  his  own  nation  in  particular,  he  found  his 
mission  in  the  awakening  of  men's  minds,  and  he  discharged  it 
with  a  loyal  devotion.  His  constructive  work,  at  once  stimulat- 
ing and  strengthening,  and  the  constant  direction  of  his  effort 
to  the  deep  things  of  life,  together  with  his  stern  inculcation  of 
the  qualities  that  make  for  manliness,  have  indeed  exercised  an 
enduring  and  imperishable  influence. 

(bb)  Schelling  (1775-1854). — If  in  this  little  band  of  thinkers 
Fichte  is  pre-eminently  the  active  and  ethical  personality,  it  is- 
Schelling  who  is  the  artist  and  aesthete.  For  even  when  he 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        491 

turns  his  attention  to  other  domains,  as,  for  example,  nature, 
his  enquiry  is  only  important  and  suggestive  in  so  far  as  it  is 
sustained  by  the  artistic  interest;  removed  from  this,  it  becomes 
forthwith  whimsical  and  ineffective.  It  is  only  in  the  light  of  an 
age  of  great  artistic  ferment,  and  as  the  expression  of  a  person- 
ality with  strong  artistic  leanings,  that  Schelling's  philosophy  of 
nature  becomes  at  all  intelligible.  The  ideal  of  artistic  intui- 
tion— to  see  nature  as  a  realm  of  vital  forces  and  inward  con- 
nections— must  now  serve  also  as  the  ideal  for  science.  This 
transference  cannot  be  effected  without  a  very  summary,  ar- 
bitrary, violent  treatment  of  the  material  in  question;  but 
through  all  the  errors  of  Schelling's  procedure  there  runs  a  vein 
of  quickening,  stimulating  thought.  Nature  is  represented  as 
a  spiritual  whole,  embracing  all  manifoldness  within  a  single 
life.  She  is,  however,  no  fixed  and  stable  being,  but  a  constant 
becoming,  a  process  perpetually  advancing  through  self- 
development,  the  motive-power  being  the  opposition  of  positive 
and  negative  forces,  attraction  and  repulsion.  Thus  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  an  isolated,  fixed  form;  all  forms  are  borne  along 
on  the  stream  of  an  infinite  life.  "Nature  is  not  merely  the 
product  of  an  incomprehensible  act  of  creation;  it  is  the  creation 
itself.  It  is  not  only  the  appearance  or  manifestation  of  the 
Eternal;  it  is  also  the  Eternal  Itself."  At  heart,  nature  and 
spirit  are  one  and  the  same;  only  what  happens  unconsciously 
in  the  one  sphere  attains  to  consciousness  in  the  other.  Thus 
we  may  legitimately  hope  and  endeavour  to  approach  the 
meaning  of  nature  through  the  study  of  thought.  "What  we 
call  'nature'  is  a  poem,  written  in  a  mystic  hieroglyph,  so  that 
its  meaning  lies  hidden  from  us.  But  if  it  could  be  deciphered, 
we  should  recognise  in  it  the  Odyssey  of  the  mind,  as  it  seeks 
itself,  flees  from  itself,  and  undergoes  strange  illusions.  The 
sense-world  is  like  the  words  through  which  the  meaning  peers, 
like  the  mist  which  half  reveals  and  half  conceals  that  visionary 
land  to  which  our  souls  aspire." 

The  majority  of  scientific  thinkers  have  felt  an  instinctive 
and  decided  aversion  to  this  train  of  thought,  but  on  an  artistic 


492  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

nature  like  Goethe's  it  exercised  a  profound  influence.  When 
the  Goethe  of  later  years  reflects  that  his  earlier  conception  of 
nature  had  lacked  "appreciation  of  the  twp  great  motive- 
powers  in  nature — polarity  and  progress" — to  whom  is  he  in- 
debted more  than  to  Schelling  for  the  remedying  of  the 
defect  ? 

Schilling's  artistic  conception  of  nature  was  at  a  later  period 
extended  so  as  to  take  in  the  whole  universe.  Reality  is  repre- 
sented as  a  work  of  art,  self-poised  and  self-renewing.  In  this 
work  of  art,  all  the  oppositions  of  life — sense  and  spirit,  rest  and 
movement,  particular  and  universal — are  included  and  trans- 
cended. It  is  to  humankind,  however,  that  art  opens  up  the 
ultimate  depth  of  reality;  to  us  it  appears  as  the  "only  and 
eternal  revelation,  a  miracle  so  great  that,  had  it  only  existed 
for  a  moment,  it  were  sufficient  to  convince  us  of  the  absolute 
reality  of  our  highest  ideals." 

The  natural  accompaniment  of  such  a  belief  is  the  endeavour 
to  fashion  human  existence,  both  in  its  general  and  its  special 
aspects,  upon  artistic  lines.  The  ideal  is  not,  as  with  Fichte, 
the  moral  character,  but  rather  the  individuality  of  genius.  If 
it  was  Fichte's  idea  that  the  whole  of  existence  should  consist  in 
self-determined  action,  Schelling's  motto  is  "Learn  that  you 
may  create."  Even  the  sciences  find  their  culminating  expres- 
sion in  the  artistic  re-shaping  and  contemplation  of  the  uni- 
verse. This  is  especially  important  for  the  treatment  of  history, 
which  Schelling  would  like  to  see  regarded  as  an  art.  In  his 
legal  and  political  doctrines  he  is  in  close  touch  with  the  Ro- 
mantic school,  not  only  absorbing  its  convictions,  but  develop- 
ing them  still  further.  His  aim  is  nothing  less  than  to  rid  these 
fields  of  research  of  all  human  theorising,  and  base  them  en- 
tirely upon  an  indwelling  life  of  their  own  and  an  inherent 
necessity  of  their  constitution.  The  whole  is  to  take  precedence 
of  the  individual.  Greater  than  all  conscious  activity  is  the 
process  of  unconscious  growing  and  becoming.  Schelling,  there- 
fore, as  compared  with  the  Enlightenment,  is  in  closer  touch 
with  experience,  and  has  opened  up  an  inexhaustible  mine  of 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        493 

intuitable  fact.  But  his  attitude  is  too  one-sidedly  contemplative, 
too  passive;  and  through  desire  not  to  be  anthropomorphic,  he 
is  in  danger  of  stultifying  individual  initiative  and  falling  under 
the  sway  of  merely  natural  concepts. 

A  closer  scrutiny  of  Schelling's  artistic  attitude  forces  upon 
us  a  problem  which  points  back  indeed  to  Goethe,  the  problem 
attaching  to  the  relationship  between  ancient  and  modern  art. 
The  art  of  German  Humanism  was  primarily  an  expression  of 
soul.  Its  best  and  most  influential  work  was  lyrical.  It  was 
saturated  with  thought.  The  artistic  form,  however,  which  it 
gave  to  its  ideas  was  mainly  determined  by  the  plastic  arts, 
especially  by  sculpture.  This  opened  a  passage  for  the  entrance 
of  Greek  feeling  into  modern  life,  though  the  complete  blending 
of  two  such  entirely  different  tendencies  was  not  to  be  expected. 
With  Schelling,  as  with  Goethe,  whose  creative  work  was  so 
largely  moulded  by  Schelling's  ideas,  the  Greek  influence  re- 
mains something  that  is  never  perfectly  assimilated,  that  is 
even  alien  in  character. 

Schelling's  artistic  conception  of  the  world  was  sustained  by 
his  belief  in  the  rationality  of  the  real,  by  the  optimistic  mood 
which  animated  the  whole  epoch  of  the  German  classical  litera- 
ture. This  attitude  it  was  impossible  to  maintain  at  a  later 
time,  when  personal  experience  had  clouded  his  view  of  life  and 
the  world,  and  the  irrationality  of  the  universe  seemed  too  great 
to  be  overcome,  save  by  a  deep-reaching  transformation  of  the 
world  as  given  and  by  the  help  of  Powers  higher  than  our- 
selves. Thus  art  must  yield  place  to  religion,  and  Schelling 
becomes  mainly  occupied  with  the  problem  of  bringing  about 
the  "rebirth  of  religion  through  the  agency  of  science  in  its 
supremest  form."  Nor  is  it  his  own  problem  merely,  but,  so  he 
declares,  "the  problem  of  the  German  spirit,  the  appointed 
goal  of  all  its  strivings."  In  the  prosecution  of  his  design, 
Schelling  strikes  a  new  and  a  deeper  note.  Evil  becomes  more 
real:  there  is  a  tendency  to  dwell  on  the  mysterious  element  in 
human  existence.  "All  nature  is  wearing  itself  out  in  incessant 
toil.  Man  also  takes  no  rest.  It  is,  as  an  old  book  says:  every- 


494  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

thing  under  the  sun  is  full  of  labour  and  sorrow.  And  yet  we 
do  not  see  any  advance  made,  anything  really  attained,  any- 
thing, that  is,  in  which  we  can  rest  and  be  satisfied." 

Schelling's  own  contribution  to  the  solution  of  the  problem 
consists  of  some  daring  speculation  on  the  origin  of  evil  and  a 
theory  of  a  progressive  divine  revelation,  a  theory  which  finds 
room  for  all  the  various  religions.  Some  of  his  ideas  are  highly 
suggestive,  but  there  is  so  much  that  is  fantastic  in  them,  his 
attempt  to  explain  the  irrational  rationally  is  so  impossible,  that 
his  contemporaries  had  a  very  good  excuse  for  roundly  rejecting 
the  whole  system.  Schelling  alienated  himself  more  and  more 
from  the  feeling  of  his  age  and  from  that  living,  moving  present 
he  had  so  boldly  thought  to  guide. 

Moreover,  in  his  life-work  generally  his  suggestions  far  out- 
weigh in  importance  his  actual  achievements.  He  is  too  swift 
and  hasty  ever  to  be  mature.  Nevertheless,  such  is  the  brilliancy 
of  his  genius,  the  versatility  of  his  effort,  and  the  attractiveness 
of  his  style,  that  he  has  had  a  great  influence  in  enriching  life 
and  widening  the  spiritual  horizon.  He  broke  down  many 
obstinate  prejudices,  brought  together  much  scattered  material, 
and  softened  the  asperity  of  many  oppositions.  In  particular, 
he  set  the  oppositions  of  sense  and  spirit,  intuition  and  thought, 
in  a  far  friendlier  and  more  fruitful  relation  than  had  been 
suggested  by  any  previous  writer. 

(cc)  Hegel  (1770-1831). — In  industry  and  systematic  strength 
Hegel  is  far  and  away  superior  to  Schelling.  He  has  at  his  dis- 
posal all  the  resources  of  a  completed  system,  and  this  has 
enabled  him  to  make  so  deep  an  impression  on  the  life  of  the 
century  that  it  cannot  escape  his  influence,  however  hard  it  may 
try.  Again  and  again  we  hear  that  Hegel  is  outworn  and  super- 
seded, and  that  he  is  separated  from  us  by  an  impassable  gulf. 
And  yet  he  still  wields  power  over  the  minds  of  men,  still  makes 
converts.  In  our  work,  our  ideas,  our  problems,  his  influence  is 
latently  active,  though  it  may  often  be  unrecognised.  Thus 
Hegel  both  attracts  and  repels  us.  We  recognise  in  him  one  of 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        495 

the  forces  of  the  century,  as  well  as  a  sign  that  is  universally 
spoken  against.  It  is  an  alluring  paradox! 

However  high-handed  a  superiority  Hegel's  system  may 
assume,  it  is  yet  but  a  simple  fact  and  an  old  truth  which  it 
takes  up  and  develops,  the  fact  of  the  thought  operative  within 
us.  Thought,  though  belonging  to  our  own  nature,  exercises  at 
the  same  time  a  control  over  us.  Even  in  the  individual  it  de- 
velops its  consequences  without  any  regard  to  his  will.  It  de- 
mands imperatively  that  contradictions  which  have  been  recog- 
nised shall  be  solved.  It  is  truer  to  say  not  that  we  think,  but 
that  thinking  goes  on  within  us.  Socrates  had  already  distin- 
guished clearly  between  thought  on  the  one  hand  and  mere  in- 
dividual presentations  on  the  other,  and  found  in  thought  a  sure 
support  for  knowledge  and  for  life.  Hegel,  however,  does  not 
stop  at  the  thought  of  the  individual  thinker;  he  is  concerned 
with  thought  as  it  presents  itself  in  the  life  of  humanity  and  the 
process  of  the  world's  history.  The  result  of  this  new  departure 
is  to  make  thought  not  something  that  is  once  and  for  all  and 
can  rest  in  its  completeness,  but  a  process  that  is  now  in  progress 
and  developing  in  conformity  with  its  own  laws.  It  is  not 
something  which  exists  side  by  side  with  things,  but  it  is  that 
which  embraces  them  all  and  projects  them  from  itself.  The 
thought-process,  accordingly,  by  claiming  as  its  own  all  the 
products  of  the  world's  history,  becomes  a  world-process,  the 
true  substance  of  all  reality,  subjugating  to  its  logic  the  whole 
wide  world. 

This  attempt  of  Hegel's  necessitates  an  emancipation  of 
thought  from  everything  that  is  distinctively  human.  To  effect 
this  emancipation,  we  must  be  sufficiently  strong  and  courageous 
to  put  aside  our  own  ideas  and  perceptions,  rise  to  the  height  of 
objective  thinking,  and  merely  follow  where  it  leads  us.  Then 
forthwith  our  limitations  fall  away,  and  human  reason  becomes 
one  with  the  Divine.  Nothing  less  than  this  justifies  us  in  trust- 
ing to  the  power  of  thought,  and,  without  such  trust,  it  is  im- 
possible, according  to  Hegel,  to  put  any  heart  into  philosophical 
work.  "Courageous  trust  in  truth,  faith  in  the  power  of  mind; 


496  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

is  the  primary  requisite  of  philosophical  study.  Man  must 
respect  himself  and  esteem  himself  worthy  of  the  highest.  He 
cannot  think  too  highly  of  the  greatness  and  power  of  mind. 
The  secret  nature  of  the  universe  is  powerless  to  resist  a  coura- 
geous trust  in  knowledge.  It  is  bound  to  open  its  doors,  re- 
veal its  riches,  and  bid  us  rejoice  in  their  possession." 

The  transformation  of  reality  into  pure  thought  follows, 
however,  a  certain  method :  there  are  inherent  contradictions  in 
the  concepts,  which  call  urgently  for  a  solution  and  provoke  the 
formation  of  new  concepts.  The  process  repeats  itself,  and 
thus  the  movement  widens  out  till  it  brings  everything  alien  into 
its  circle,  lights  up  all  that  was  obscure,  and  transforms  all 
assumption  into  well-grounded  insight.  "The  True  is  the 
Whole.  The  Whole,  however,  is  nothing  more  than  Being  per- 
fecting itself  through  its  own  development."  The  method  is 
really  just  the  self-developing  movement  of  the  concept.  For, 
truly  speaking,  each  concept  is  a  "unity  of  opposite  moments"; 
in  everything  real  there  is  a  coming  together  of  being  and  not- 
being,  and  therefore  "all  things  are  implicitly  self-contra- 
dictory." The  development  and  solution  of  these  contradic- 
tions make  the  concept  ever  richer  in  content,  till  at  last  the 
mind  knows  the  whole  infinite  universe  for  its  property,  and 
therewith  reaches  the  summit  of  complete  self-consciousness. 

In  this  process  every  step  is  but  a  point  of  transition;  no  one 
thing  can  seek  to  establish  a  separate  existence  without  imme- 
diately becoming  stereotyped  and  false.  Precisely  at  the  mo- 
ment when  it  reaches  its  highest  point  of  development,  its  down- 
fall begins.  How  should  it  go  on  living  when  its  work  is  done  ? 
Life,  on  this  view,  is  a  process  of  incessant  decay.  But  the  decay 
does  not  imply  utter  annihilation.  When  something  disappears 
from  view,  it  is  not  therefore  extinct.  That  which  has  to  give  up 
its  separate  existence,  be  "transcended"  in  the  sense  of  "ne- 
gated," remains  as  a  part,  a  moment,  of  a  higher  stage  in  which 
it  is  "transcended"  in  a  more  positive  sense.  The  individual 
succumbs  to  the  tidal  forces  of  this  stupendous  process,  only  to 
find  within  the  Whole  a  new  and  imperishable  existence.  Thus 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        497 

the  victory  rests  finally  with  life,  but  in  the  annihilation  which  is 
demanded  of  it  there  is  a  profoundly  tragic  note. 

The  vigorous  prosecution  of  this  method  results  in  a  thor- 
oughly characteristic  representation  of  our  world  of  reality. 
Not  only  are  all  things  in  a  state  of  flux,  but  they  are  all  linked 
together  and  referred  to  each  other:  their  meaning  can  only  be 
ascertained  from  their  mutual  relations  and  connections.  Every- 
where we  advance  through  conflict  and  collision,  and  not  through 
a  process  of  quiet  accumulation.  Our  life  is  strained  to  the 
utmost  tension  of  activity.  The  apparently  external  world  of 
sense  is  now  proved  to  be  merely  the  mind  revealing  itself  to 
itself  in  phenomenal  form;  nowhere  has  matter  an  independent 
value  of  its  own.  Throughout  the  mind  must  draw  upon  its 
own  resources.  Its  work  transcends  all  merely  human  pur- 
poses, transcends,  too,  the  capacity  of  the  fleeting  conscious 
life.  Man,  while  still  in  his  own  sphere,  comes  under  the  influ- 
ence of  higher  Powers.  All  spiritual  activity,  however,  is  con- 
centrated in  the  conceptual  labour  of  thought;  accordingly,  the 
essential  thing  is  to  refer  complex  states  to  the  unifying  concept, 
and  let  one  illuminating  idea  flood  a  whole  region  with  light. 
It  is  these  ideas  which  are  the  pivot,  we  might  even  say  the 
propelling  mechanism,  of  history.  The  various  regions  again 
are  reunited  in  one  comprehensive  system;  they  become  stages 
and  manifestations  of  one  single  truth.  In  this  vast  process  of 
spiritualisation  all  things  become  closely  bound  and  linked 
together;  all  life  is  cast  from  one  mould.  Throughout  the  welter 
and  turmoil  of  the  movement  we  feel  the  singleness  of  the  point 
of  view  from  which  it  is  regarded,  and  it  is  this  which  changes 
the  storm  and  stress  of  existence  into  the  repose  of  a  life  that  is 
lived  sub  specie  ceternitalis. 

This  process  is  primarily  a  matter  of  the  intellect,  and  not  of 
the  moral  nature.  But  it  in  no  wise  lacks  a  moral  element. 
Such  an  element  is  involved  in  the  surrender  to  objective  truth, 
to  the  movement  of  ideas  which  go  on  their  way,  develop  and 
die,  with  no  regard  to  the  weal  and  woe  of  individuals.  They 
make  use  of  man,  even  without  his  knowledge  and  against  his 


498  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

will.  They  are  "cunning"  enough  to  make  a  tool  of  him,  even 
when  he  is  pursuing  his  own  ends  and  gratifying  his  passions. 
"The  passions  are  mutually  destructive;  Reason  alone  keeps 
watch,  follows  up  her  ends,  and  carries  them  through."  But 
let  a  man  adopt  these  ideas  into  his  own  will,  and  he  will  then 
realise  his  true  greatness  and  understand  the  real  meaning  of 
morality.  "The  great  men  in  history  are  those  whose  own 
private  ends  embody  the  will  of  the  World-spirit."* 

Hegel  develops  these  ideas  with  much  more  success  in  some 
fields  than  in  others.  Nature  for  him  is  always  a  kind  of  step- 
child, and  he  is  not  very  happy  even  when  dealing  with  the 
psychical  life  of  the  individual.  His  strength  lies  in  the  sphere 
of  history  and  social  life.  He  is  indeed  the  most  important 
philosophical  exponent  of  the  historical  movement  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Above  all  others,  he  is  the  philosopher  of  our 
modern  life  and  culture.  No  one  else  has  worked  out  its  in- 
tellectualism,  optimism,  and  belief  in  progress  with  such  mas- 
terly thoroughness. 

Hegel's  sociology  gives  particularly  clear  expression  to  his 
trend  of  thought.  Consistently  with  his  subordination  of  the 
individual  to  the  whole,  the  state,  as  an  expression  of  the 
whole,  takes  emphatic  precedence  of  the  individual.  He  does 
indeed  find  that  the  essence  of  the  more  modern  state  consists  in 
the  fact  that  "the  universal  is  bound  up  with  the  full  freedom 
of  the  particular  and  the  well-being  of  individuals,"  but  the 
primacy  of  the  universal  is  never  for  one  moment  questioned, 
and  the  contrast  to  the  State  of  the  Enlightenment  with  its  basis 
of  individual  justice  and  freedom  is  glaringly  apparent.  More- 
over, even  though  Hegel  is  convinced  that  much  of  importance 
is  effected  not  by  collective  action,  but  by  the  work  of  particular 
men  of  genius,  yet  these  men  do  not  stand  outside  their  age; 
they  are  the  product  of  it,  and  are  merely  making  consciously 
explicit  the  aspirations  of  the  community  at  large.  "Public 
opinion  is  a  mixture  of  truth  and  falsity;  to  sift  out  that  which  is 
true  in  it  is  the  work  of  the  great  man.  The  great  man  is  he 
who  is  the  mouthpiece  and  executor  of  his  age." 

•  See  Appendix  P. 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        499 

At  the  same  time  Hegel  deprecates  strongly  the  deep-rooted 
tendency  to  criticise  the  state  from  a  merely  subjective  point  of 
view,  and  find  a  satisfaction  in  pointing  out  the  errors  which 
are  unavoidable  in  human  affairs.  What  is  of  far  more  import- 
ance is  to  live  into  the  spirit  of  the  whole,  and  interpret  its 
utterance  in  the  light  of  its  own  inner  nature.  Just  as  every- 
where it  is  the  mark  of  a  rational  insight  to  come  to  an  under- 
standing with  reality,  so  the  state  also  is  to  be  understood  and 
portrayed  as  intrinsically  rational.  It  is  not  the  primary  busi- 
ness of  philosophy  to  tell  us  what  the  world  ought  to  be  like, 
but  to  recognise  the  rational  as  real  and  the  real  as  rational. 
The  philosophical  attitude,  however,  is  proper  rather  to  the 
end  than  the  beginning  of  an  historical  epoch.  "  Being  reflection 
about  the  world,  philosophy  does  not  make  its  appearance  until 
reality  has  passed  through  its  formative  stage  and  become  com- 
plete. Only  at  the  approach  of  dusk,  does  the  owl  of  Minerva 
begin  her  flight." 

Thus  Hegel  has  inculcated  a  higher  conception  of  the  state 
and  has  taught  us  to  invest  it  with  more  important  functions. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  is  largely  responsible  for  that  mystical 
exaggeration  of  the  idea  of  the  state,  which  threatens  more  and 
more  to  turn  the  spiritual  life  into  a  mechanism.  He  who  with 
Hegel  sees  in  the  state  "the  realisation  of  the  moral  Idea," 
"the  divine  Will  effectively  differentiating  itself  into  the  reality 
and  organised  structure  of  a  world,"  must  end  by  viewing  it  as 
an  "earthly-divinity"  and  refusing  to  allow  that  it  has  any 
limitations. 

The  more  detailed  elaboration  of  the  view  sets  throughout 
in  a  very  clear  light  its  main  and  fundamental  position.  Thus 
Hegel  endeavours  to  trace  the  power  of  logical  opposition  in 
the  life  of  society.  For  example,  he  understands  punishment 
as  the  negation  of  that  negation  of  justice  which  the  delinquent 
has  committed;  he  recognises  in  love  at  once  a  surrender  of 
one's  own  being  and  the  acquisition  of  a  new  being  through 
self-denial.  "Love  is  the  most  tremendous  contradiction,  im- 
possible for  the  understanding  to  solve."  "Love  at  once  sets 


500  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  contradiction  and  solves  it."  Contrary  to  the  usual  tend- 
ency of  philosophy,  Hegel  even  defends  war  as  "an  indis- 
pensable means  of  maintaining  the  moral  health  of  the  nations, 
preserving  their  plasticity,  and  counteracting  the  tendency  of 
settled  habits  to  degenerate  into  conventional  routine." 

His  ideal  of  government  is  the  rule  of  intelligence,  exercised 
by  officials  who  have  been  philosophically  trained  and  are  full 
of  interest  in  spiritual  problems.  The  representatives  of  the 
people  must  not  interfere  with  affairs  of  state,  though  it  is  their 
duty  to  insist  upon  the  government  giving  an  account  of  its 
procedure,  thereby  lifting  political  life  on  to  a  higher  plane  of 
consciousness. 

Hegel,  however,  does  not  regard  the  individual  state  as  having 
its  terminus  within  itself.  It  is  only  a  tributary  in  the  stream  of 
the  world's  history.  There  is  always  one  nation  which  takes 
the  lead  in  the  development  of  its  epoch;  each  civilised  people 
has  its  day.  But  it  maintains  its  lead  only  for  a  limited  time 
and  then  hands  on  the  torch  to  another.  All  the  achievements 
of  particular  Qations  and  particular  periods  subserve  but  one 
idea:  the  development  of  spirit  to  the  point  at  which  it  becomes 
conscious  of  its  freedom.  Alike  in  constructive  and  destructive 
processes,  the  spirit  is  simply  finding  itself,  coming  back  upon 
itself,  and  so  achieving  its  highest  perfection.  A  freedom  of 
this  kind  which  takes  in  the  whole  content  of  life  is  fundament- 
ally different  from  the  merely  natural  and  subjective  freedom 
which  is  only  just  embarking  on  its  work.  This  higher  freedom 
is  only  to  be  won  at  the  cost  of  endless  toil.  For  "the  develop- 
ment which  in  nature  is  a  peaceful  process  of  growth  involves 
for  spirit  a  hard  and  ceaseless  struggle  against  itself.  The  real 
aim  of  the  spirit  is  to  realise  its  own  idea,  but  it  conceals  this 
idea  from  itself,  and  is  full  of  pride  and  pleasure  in  this  aliena- 
tion of  itself."  But  at  the  same  time  we  may  "rest  assured  that 
it  is  the  nature  of  truth  to  make  its  appearance  when  its  time 
comes,  and  that  it  only  appears  when  this  time  has  come,  and 
therefore  never  appears  too  early  nor  finds  the  community  un- 
ready." 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        501 

The  way  in  which  the  separate  epochs  form  sections  and  stages 
of  this  world-historic  process  has  been  developed  by  Hegel 
in  a  concise  though  powerful  treatment,  and  traced  right  up  to 
the  present  era  in  which  he  sees  the  victorious  finale  of  the  whole 
drama,  the  full  self-consciousness  of  spirit.  He  concludes  with 
the  joyful  assurance:  "The  development  of  the  Spiritual  Prin- 
ciple is  the  true  theodicy,  for  this  it  is  which  makes  us  see  that 
Spirit  can  only  be  free  in  a  spiritual  medium,  and  that  all  that 
has  happened  and  happens  every  day  not  only  comes  from  God, 
but  is  the  work  of  God  Himself." 

The  culmination  of  life  Hegel  finds  in  the  kingdom  of  Abso- 
lute Spirit,  which  he  separates  into  the  departments  of  Art, 
Religion,  and  Philosophy.  These  are  all  expressions  of  one 
and  the  same  truth;  the  self-discovery  and  self-appropriation  of 
spirit  through  its  own  movement;  but  art  presents  this  truth  in 
the  form  of  sense-intuition,  religion  in  the  form  of  imaginative 
representation,  philosophy  in  the  form  of  the  pure  concept. 
Everywhere  it  is  the  thought-element  which  is  essential;  the 
work  of  art  is  the  embodiment  of  an  idea,  and  the  degeneration 
of  religion  into  a  vague  feeling  is  strongly  deprecated.  "  Thought 
is  the  very  nerve  of  feeling;  only  when  the  thought  is  true  is  the 
feeling  also  genuine."  All  the  departments  must  find  their 
place  in  a  scheme  of  historical  development,  wherein  the  present 
figures  as  the  climax  and  conclusion  of  the  whole  process  of 
advance  through  opposition.  What  gives  a  living  content  to 
religion  is  the  idea  running  through  the  whole  system,  of  the 
absorption  of  the  individual  into  the  totality  of  the  thought- 
process,  and  his  regeneration  through  its  power.  The  life  and 
influence  of  religion  Hegel  describes  in  glowing  terms:  "This 
is  the  region  of  the  Spirit  in  which  flow  those  waters  of  Lethe 
whereof  Psyche  drinks,  in  which  she  sinks  her  sorrow,  changes 
all  temporal  hardships  and  obscurities  to  the  fashion  of  a 
dream,  and  transfigures  them  with  the  radiance  of  Eternity." 
He  becomes,  however,  strained  and  artificial  when  he  tries  to 
show  that  this  immanental  religion  of  the  Absolute  Thought- 
Process  is  identical  with  Christianity. 


502  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

The  culminating  point  is  pure  philosophy,  the  philosophy  of 
concrete  knowledge,  philosophy  understood  as  "spirit  know- 
ing itself  in  the  form  of  spirit,  or  knowledge  that  has  a  grasp  of 
the  whole."  Philosophy  is  not  something  separate  from  its 
history,  but  simply  the  movement  of  the  history  itself,  when 
comprehended  into  a  unity  and  illumined  by  thought.  The 
doctrines  of  particular  philosophers  are  not  chance  views  and 
conceits  of  mere  individuals,  they  are  necessary  stages  in  the 
process  of  thought.  Each  has  its  own  sure  place  and  finds  in 
the  whole  alike  its  course  and  its  outlet.  And  even  when  we 
take  the  philosophers  singly,  all  their  diversity  of  thought 
ranges  itself  under  one  main  idea  which  alone  gives  it  value. 
The  progress  of  the  movement  obeys  here,  too,  the  law  of  oppo- 
sition, of  ascent  through  thesis  and  antithesis.  Here,  too, 
strife  is  the  father  of  all  things.  Looking  from  the  present  as 
from  a  final  summit,  we  can  see  clearly  all  our  earlier  stages 
and  recognise  the  justice  of  each.  The  whole  now  appears  as 
"a  circle  rounding  back  upon  itself,  and  presupposing  its  begin- 
ning, though  it  attains  it  only  in  the  end."  The  fever  of  advance 
now  turns  to  the  bliss  of  a  contemplation  that  is  at  rest  with  itself. 

The  secret  of  Hegel's  power  is  largely  this:  that  he  combines 
a  rigid,  apparently  iron-bound  system  with  a  wealth  of  intuition, 
which  breaks  through  again  and  again  with  spontaneous  fresh- 
ness and  force.  In  order  to  do  justice  to  this  latter  factor,  we 
have  made  a  point  of  frequently  quoting  his  actual  words.  Our 
final  judgment  must  depend  mainly  on  whether  the  system  and 
the  intuition  combine  to  form  an  inward  unity.  We  cannot  say 
that  they  do.  The  intuition  does  not  carry  on  and  supplement 
the  system,  but  reveals  rather  a  fundamental  conviction  of  a 
different  kind — richer  and  broader.  The  system,  if  forced  to 
abide  by  the  position  it  has  taken  up,  can  offer  nothing  more 
than  a  thought  of  thought,  a  radiation  of  the  forms  and 
powers  of  thought  into  the  universe,  a  transformation  of  the 
whole  of  reality  into  a  tissue  of  logical  relations.  And  this 
necessarily  destroys  the  immediacy  of  life  in  all  its  forms.  It 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        503 

banishes  all  psychical  inwardness  and  at  the  same  time  all 
spiritual  content.  It  is  a  dire  contradiction  of  this  main  tend- 
ency when,  after  all,  a  world  of  sentiment  is  recognised,  a 
spiritual  depth,  a  realm  of  ethical  values.  Everything  of  the 
kind  ought  really  to  vanish  before  this  logical  machinery.  Our 
being  ought  to  be  so  entirely  absorbed  in  it  that  not  the  smallest 
space  should  be  left  for  any  experience  of  the  process,  for  any 
transmutation  of  it  into  deed  and  personal  possession.  The 
advance  of  the  thought-process  would  thus  tend  more  and 
more  to  swaUow  up  all  inward  life  and  make  of  man  a  com- 
pliant tool  in  a  process  of  intellectual  culture.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  this  tendency  is  at  work  in  Hegel,  and,  in  so  far  as  it  gains 
the  upper  hand,  is  a  victory  for  empty  form,  abstraction,  and 
soullessness. 

But  there  is  a  counteracting  influence  constantly  opposing  it — 
the  rich  intuitive  genius  of  a  man  of  mark,  the  power  to  take  a 
comprehensive  survey  over  vast  tracts  of  time  and  assimilate  in 
his  own  way  the  experience  of  the  world's  history.  Here  the 
Dialectic  is  no  longer  a  consuming  Moloch,  but  a  friendly  power, 
helping  life  to  work  out  its  meaning  and  itself  subserving  a 
larger  whole.  It  is  in  this  way  that  Hegel's  philosophy  of  art 
is  enabled  to  draw  upon  the  vast  resources  of  our  classical  litera- 
ture, that  his  religious  philosophy  is  suffused  with  the  glow  and 
inspiration  of  Christianity,  that  his  political  ideas  are  enriched 
by  the  facts  of  modern  civilisation,  that  his  thought  becomes 
throughout  fruitful  and  penetrating  whenever  the  mere  move- 
ment of  the  concepts  is  counterbalanced  by  a  living  intuition 
of  spiritual  reality. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  his  intuition  fails  him,  as  it  notably 
does  fail  him  in  dealing  with  nature,  when  the  constructive 
power  of  the  idea  is  left  to  its  own  resources,  he  forthwith  be- 
comes formal,  empty,  intolerable,  and  his  still  unabated  pre- 
tensions merely  provoke  antagonism.  For  here  we  have  a 
most  illuminating  illustration  of  how  little  can  be  done  by  the 
mere  manipulation  of  concepts;  it  is  like  turning  a  screw  in  a 
vacuum  where  it  meets  with  no  resistance. 


504  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Thus  in  Hegel  we  are  face  to  face  with  a  serious  contradic- 
tion: the  progress  of  his  work  involves  the  destruction  of  that, 
the  retention  of  which  is  essential  to  its  greatness.  In  Hegel 
himself  the  contradiction  never  becomes  explicit,  because  his 
personality  is  always  able  to  restore  a  fairly  satisfactory  balance 
between  his  method  and  his  insight.  But  once  away  from  his 
personality  and  its  work,  the  forces  of  dissension  are  let  loose, 
and  the  system  falls  hopelessly  asunder. 

And  yet  despite  all  that  may  be  problematic  and  defective  in 
Hegel,  we  cannot  deny  the  towering  greatness  of  his  achieve- 
ment. He  secured  recognition  for  the  more  universal  truths, 
truths  which  even  his  opponents  are  bound  to  admit.  Irresist- 
ibly powerful  and  fascinating  is  his  idea  of  an  all-embracing 
system,  uniformly  moulding  and  shaping  every  department,  the 
thought  of  a  life  in  perpetual  movement,  individual  forms  in 
ceaseless  flux,  changing  in  response  to  the  changing  conditions  of 
the  whole.  Overwhelmingly  impressive  is  his  idea  of  a  reality 
which  refuses  to  accommodate  itself  to  our  likes  and  dislikes, 
his  portrayal  of  the  rise  and  conflict  of  independent  thought- 
systems  completely  beyond  the  control  of  this  school  or  of  that. 
It  is  he  who  makes  us  aware  of  the  tremendous  power  of  nega- 
tion in  our  lives,  of  the  rousing,  stimulating  force  of  contradic- 
tion, and  of  the  advance  of  the  spiritual  movement  through 
opposition.  All  these  ideas  are  in  the  highest  degree  fruitful, 
and  a  system  which  thought  to  dispense  with  them  would  be 
wofully  the  poorer.  Nor  does  Hegel  present  them  merely  as  a 
programme,  but  as  an  achieved  construction,  well  organised 
and  firmly  compacted.  If,  however,  while  admitting  all  this, 
we  are  compelled  to  dissent  from  his  interpretation  of  the  world 
as  mere  thought,  and  look  upon  it  as  an  error  of  momentous 
import,  we  recognise  at  once  the  inconsistency  of  the  total  im- 
pression. There  seems  to  be  a  hopeless  mixture  of  that  which 
is  fruitful  and  necessary  with  much  that  is  perverse  and  unten- 
able. We  are  at  one  and  the  same  time  attracted  and  repelled. 

To  contradiction,  the  inward  dialectic  of  the  concepts,  Hegel 
has  assigned  a  central  place  in  the  process  of  thoughf;  and  he 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        505 

has  himself  come  under  the  power  of  this  dialectic.  His  inten- 
tion was,  by  a  clear,  connected  treatment  of  the  world's  de- 
velopment, to  exercise  a  reassuring,  calming,  pacific  influence. 
The  system,  as  we  see  it  at  first,  with  its  tendency  to  prove  the 
real  to  be  rational  and  the  rational  real,  has  a  thoroughly  con- 
servative stamp.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  has  kindled  the 
most  violent  passions,  and  been  the  cause  of  most  destructive 
upheavals,  particularly  in  religious,  political  and  social  matters; 
it  is  the  strongest  radical  force  of  modern  times.  How  can  we 
account  for  this  discrepancy  between  intention  and  achieve- 
ment? 

Primarily,  on  the  ground  of  an  inherent  contradiction  in  the 
Hegelian  position,  a  contradiction  which  the  philosophy  of 
history  brings  home  to  us  with  special  force.  It  consists  in  this, 
that  while  the  whole  of  reality  is  transformed  into  a  process  of 
restless  evolution,  the  process  is  still  viewed  from  a  stand-point 
which  transcends  it;  there  is  thus  a  tendency  to  combine  the 
stability  of  an  ultimate  conclusion  with  the  relativity  of  an  un- 
limited progress.  The  illimitableness  of  the  Thought-Process 
requires  a  perpetual  progress  in  time;  it  would  be  impossible  for 
the  movement  to  terminate  at  one  particular  point  of  time. 
Thus  the  present  must  be  regarded  as  a  mere  link  in  a  never- 
ending  chain,  and  must  be  prepared  to  see  all  its  endeavour 
swing  round  into  its  opposite  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  con- 
tradiction. But  this  inference  Hegel  cannot  admit  at  any  price, 
since  it  would  imply  the  surrender  of  the  central  point  in  his 
system,  and  deprive  him  of  any  right  to  a  speculative  survey. 
For  such  a  survey  requires  that  we  should  be  able  to  review  the 
whole  movement;  only  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  whole  can 
the  oppositions  be  overcome  and  integrated.  This  review  of 
the  whole,  however,  is  impossible  unless  we  step  out  of  Be- 
coming into  the  sphere  of  Eternal  Being  and  find  ourselves 
transplanted  into  a  realm  of  ultimately  valid  truth.  A  conclu- 
sion in  this  sense  is  therefore  indispensable  for  Hegel,  if  his 
philosophy  is  to  be  more  than  a  mere  expression  of  a  particular 
age,  if  it  is  to  review  the  whole  history  of  culture.  These  two 


506  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

tendencies,  then,  are  sharply  opposed;  in  the  particular  connec- 
tion we  have  been  discussing  they  are  quite  irreconcilable.  In 
Hegel's  own  mind  the  conservative  tendency  got  the  upper  hand, 
and  led  him  to  take  a  peaceful,  contemplative  view  of  the  world. 
With  his  successors,  on  the  other  hand,  as  the  character  of  their 
age  would  lead  us  to  expect,  the  radical  tendency  was  victorious, 
and  drove  them  in  the  direction  of  tempestuous  upheaval  and 
rampant  relativity.  With  them  truth  becomes  merely  an  off- 
spring of  the  age,  a  tool  at  the  service  of  the  necessities  of  life 
and  its  ever-changing  requirements. 

But  though  the  seeds  of  radicalism  and  relativity  were  latent 
in  the  system,  their  quick  maturing  was  due  to  a  change  in  the 
social  environment.  Just  at  the  time  when  Hegel  died,  a  move- 
ment was  in  progress  which  was  directing  the  current  of  life 
toward  the  problem  of  visible  existence,  and  consequently 
turning  philosophy  from  idealism  to  realism.  Up  to  Hegel's 
time  preponderating  emphasis  had  been  laid  on  questions  of 
the  inward  life,  and  man's  whole  importance  was  due  to  his 
creative  spiritual  capacity.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  attention 
begins  to  be  focussed  on  the  man  of  our  immediate  experience, 
man  as  he  actually  is.  His  relationship  to  his  physical  and 
social  environment  offers  serious  problems  and  complications, 
which  so  engross  our  thoughts  and  efforts  that  the  world  of 
poetry  and  speculation  grows  dim,  and  if  it  does  not  altogether 
vanish,  is  at  least  degraded  to  a  merely  subsidiary  position.  If 
the  Hegelian  ideas  can  still  maintain  themselves  under  these 
conditions,  then  the  powerful  intellectual  resources  of  the  move- 
ment all  come  under  the  control  of  the  individual.  Its  enhanced 
appreciation  of  the  logical  faculty,  the  fluidity  of  its  conceptions, 
the  sublimation  of  all  its  material,  the  advance  through  con- 
tradiction, all  this  serves  to  aggrandise  the  power  of  the  indivi- 
dual. He  can  venture  now  to  use  things  in  this  way  or  in  that 
as  it  pleases  him.  Unfettered  reflection  is  allowed  to  soar  free 
of  all  objective  compulsion.  There  is  a  tendency  to  talk  of 
"stand-points"  and  "points  of  view,"  and  to  maintain  that  they 
are  all  equally  justified,  a  movement  toward  a  modern  Sophis- 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        507 

tic,  just  as  the  old  Sophistic  sprang  out  of  the  kindred  system  of 
Heraclitus. 

When,  moreover,  simultaneously  with  this  change,  material 
interests  began  to  make  themselves  felt — and  all  the  more 
strongly  for  their  long  suppression  and  neglect — they  found  at 
their  disposal  the  magnificent  thought-apparatus  of  the  Hegelian 
system,  the  whole  armoury  of  the  logico-dialectical  method,  to 
use  for  their  own  ends.  For  example,  the  theory  of  social  de- 
mocracy supplies  a  materialistic  rendering  of  Hegel's  philosophy 
of  history.  Materialism  in  Economics  would  never  have  gained 
the  power  it  did  but  for  the  weapons  it  borrowed  from  Hegel. 

Thus  Hegel  himself  supplies  a  particularly  apt  illustration  of 
the  destructive  power  of  the  dialectical  method.  From  the  out' 
set  there  were  daimonic  powers  at  work  in  his  world  of  thought, 
but  for  a  while  his  spiritual  force  kept  them  in  check.  The 
peaceful,  almost  bourgeois  character  of  his  personality  exer- 
cised a  calming  influence.  Their  sphere  of  operation,  more- 
over, lay  outside  the  needs  and  passions  of  every-day  life:  it  was 
a  conflict  of  spirits  in  the  pure  ether  of  thought.  But  the  control 
vanished  with  Hegel.  The  daimonic  powers  broke  up  their 
previous  connections,  and  sought,  recklessly,  each  his  own  path. 
At  the  same  time,  they  descended  from  their  heights  into  the 
workaday  world,  mixed  with  its  interests,  infused  into  its  move- 
ments their  own  passion,  their  own  boundless  craving  for  life. 
Our  own  age  is  still  under  the  influence  of  the  problems  thus 
suggested.  Will  it  be  sufficiently  strong  to  tame  these  forces  of 
disruption,  and  bring  the  truth  they  contain  into  line  with 
reason  ? 

(/S)    SCHLEIERMACHER   (1768-1834) 

Among  the  leaders  of  German  Idealism  we  must  not  omit  to 
mention  Schleiermacher.  He  lacks,  indeed,  the  penetrating  and 
renewing  power  of  the  men  we  have  just  been  discussing.  He 
does  not  fashion  and  colour  his  conception  of  the  world  in  such 
a  characteristic  and  vigorous  way.  But  he  is  also  free  from 
their  vehemence.  His  fine,  susceptible  nature  gives  a  more 


5o8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

fresh,  ingenuous  welcome  to  the  rich  influences  that  pour  into  it 
from  the  stores  of  the  universe.  In  the  interchange  between 
soul  and  world  an  artistic  conception  of  life  grows  up;  rigid 
distinctions  melt  and  blend;  the  most  diverse  elements  are 
wrought  into  one  pattern.  Schleiermacher  touches  nothing  that 
he  does  not  ennoble.  We  must  especially  admire  his  capacity 
for  bringing  into  mutually  complementary  relation  opposites 
which  are  wont  to  stand  as  mutually  exclusive  alternatives. 
It  is  in  this  spirit  that  Schleiermacher  develops  his  "Dialectic" 
as  an  artistic  theory  of  thought.  This,  like  the  rest  of  his  phil- 
osophy, owes  its  greatness  not  so  much  to  what  it  completes  or 
achieves  as  to  its  quickening,  educative  influence  on  the  progress 
of  thought,  its  power  to  take  comprehensive  views,  to  classify 
and  co-ordinate.  It  is  pre-eminently  the  philosophy  of  the  tem- 
perament which  leans  at  once  toward  art  and  the  universal. 

His  cosmic  theory,  such  as  it  is,  is  closely  related  to  that  of 
Spinoza,  who  possessed  an  extraordinary  fascination  for  the 
leading  spirits  of  this  epoch.  There  is  in  Schleiermacher,  as  in 
Spinoza,  an  intense  longing  for  a  unity  transcending  all  opposi- 
tions, for  an  inclusion  of  the  individual  in  the  universal  life,  for 
an  exaltation  of  our  human  lot  above  all  merely  human  aims. 
But  Schleiermacher's  Spinozism  is  no  mere  imitation;  it  is 
Spinozism  as  adopted  and  transformed  by  Platonic  thought. 
For  into  Spinoza's  rigid  forms,  impervious  to  all  human  feeling, 
Schleiermacher  breathes  the  warm  breath  of  life,  and  this  life 
gives  to  reality  an  artistic  form.  No  sooner  do  things  enter 
into  a  realm  of  artistic  freedom  and  spiritual  mobility  than  they 
lay  aside  their  material  ponderousness,  flitting,  and  chasing  each 
other  in  easy,  charming  fashion.  The  Greek  freshness  and 
grace  of  spirit  have  never  been  so  strikingly  reproduced  in  any 
other  of  the  German  thinkers. 

It  is  particularly  in  the  spheres  of  ethics  and  religion  that 
Schleiermacher  has  made  notable  contributions.  This  is  the 
first  time  that  a  completely  independent  status  has  been  ac- 
corded to  religion  by  the  more  modern  philosophical  thought. 
Modern  thinkers  hitherto  had  regarded  it  either  as  a  stage  of 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        509 

knowledge,  or  as  a  means  of  moral  training,  and  this  subordinate 
position  was  almost  certain  to  result  in  a  decay  of  its  inward 
life.  Schleiermacher  ensures  the  independence  of  religion  by 
recognising  that  it  has  a  spiritual  basis  of  its  own,  namely,  feel- 
ing. But  we  must  carefully  bear  in  mind  the  position  that  feeling 
holds  in  Schleiermacher,  if  we  would  rightly  estimate  the  sig- 
nificance of  this  departure.  Feeling,  for  Schleiermacher,  is  not 
just  one  mental  faculty  among  others,  but  as  "  self -consciousness 
in  its  immediacy,"  "the  original,  undifferentiated  unity  of  think- 
ing and  willing,"  it  is  the  very  root  of  all  life;  in  feeling  we  are 
not  cut  loose  from  the  world,  but  inwardly  linked  with  its  infin- 
ity. A  religion  thus  based  on  feeling,  on  the  consciousness  of 
unity  with  the  Eternal,  is  centrally  related  to  the  whole  develop- 
ment of  life,  but  at  the  same  time  maintains,  hi  virtue  of  its 
purely  inward  nature,  its  own  domain  and  sphere  of  thought. 
\Yhatever  doctrines  it  lays  down  cannot  possibly  come  into  con- 
flict with  science  and  philosophy,  because  they  are  not  statements 
concerning  outward  things,  but  simply  helps  toward  the  expres- 
sion of  the  religious  feeling.  This  expression  may  very  likely 
vary  with  the  varying  phases  of  historical  development,  but 
religion  itself  is  untouched  by  time.  Thus  the  way  is  prepared 
for  a  recognition  of  the  historical  factor  in  religion,  and  a  recon- 
ciliation facilitated  between  religion  and  the  work  of  civilisation. 
All  this  has  made  Schleiermacher  more  influential  than  any  other 
philosopher  in  stirring  and  quickening  the  religious  life  of  the 
nineteenth  century. 

Ethics  is  also  deeply  indebted  to  him.  Kant  and  Fichte  had, 
with  great  force  and  vigour,  aroused  in  their  age  a  responsiveness 
to  ethical  impulses,  and  shaken  it  out  of  its  soft  effeminacy.  But 
great  as  this  achievement  undoubtedly  was,  it  was  not  without  a 
strongly  marked  tendency  to  one-sidedness,  harshness,  rigour. 
The  idea  of  duty,  if  it  did  not  entirely  suppress  all  other  points 
of  view,  at  least  put  them  so  much  in  the  background  that  even 
the  individuality  of  the  agent  was  accorded  but  inadequate  recog- 
nition. Schleiermacher,  on  the  other  hand,  aims  at  proportion. 
He  is  a  universal  thinker,  in  that  he  recognises  equally  the  dif- 


5io  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ferent  aspects  of  ethical  life,  its  blessings,  virtues  and  duties; 
universal  again,  in  that  he  looks  at  the  whole  of  life  ethically,  and 
understands  morality  in  the  widest  sense  as  the  natural  expres- 
sion of  the  reason;  and  finally,  universal,  in  that  he  is  able  to 
reconcile  completely  the  admission  of  a  common  reason  with 
the  significance  and  distinctive  rights  of  individuality.  The  fact 
of  cardinal  importance  for  his  philosophy  is  the  individualisation 
of  reason,  "  the  establishing  of  reason,  which  remains  in  itself 
one  and  the  same,  as  a  separate  form  of  existence,"  man's  self- 
realisation  as  a  personality,  a  unique  manifestation  of  humanity. 
We  may  indeed  question  whether,  in  the  endeavour  to  conceive 
morality  broadly  and  rescue  it  from  mere  subjectivism,  Schleier- 
macher  has  distinguished  it  sufficiently  from  nature,  but  the 
greatness  of  the  service  he  has  rendered  to  ethics  is  not  thereby 
impaired.  Here,  as  in  his  work  generally,  he  has  not  been  boldly 
aggressive  and  opened  up  new  paths,  but  within  a  wide,  rich 
tract  of  already  cultivated  ground  he  has  sought  to  smooth  away 
difficulties,  and  has  exercised  a  quickening,  unifying,  ennobling 
influence. 

(7)    SCHOPENHAUER,  AND  THE  REACTION  AGAINST  RATIONAL 
IDEALISM  (1788-1860) 

In  Schopenhauer  we  have  the  beginning  of  a  strong  reaction- 
ary movement,  a  reaction  from  the  belief  in  the  rationality  of  the 
real,  which  had  inspired  the  creative  activity  of  German  Hu- 
manism and  given  it  its  characteristic  form.  And  since  this  belief 
finds  its  maturest  philosophical  expression  in  Hegel,  the  systems 
of  Hegel  and  of  Schopenhauer  stand  in  the  sharpest  opposition 
to  each  other.  In  Hegel,  thought,  in  Schopenhauer,  feeling,  is 
the  fundamental  form  of  the  psychical  life.  Hegel  takes  the  first 
impression,  essentially  remoulds  it,  and  finally  displaces  it  alto- 
gether. Schopenhauer,  on  the  contrary,  dwells  on  it  and  deepens 
it.  Reality,  with  Hegel,  is  systematised  through  a  chain  of  logical 
sequences;  with  Schopenhauer,  through  the  force  of  feelings 
which  extend  their  influence  over  the  whole  range  of  experience. 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        511 

Experience  secures  far  more  recognition  from  Schopenhauer  than 
from  Hegel,  yet  he  is  not  primarily  an  empiricist,  but  a  metaphy- 
sician ;  he  reaches  a  stand-point  from  which  he  can  survey  expe- 
rience and  map  it  out  from  his  own  peculiar  point  of  view,  a 
stand-point  from  which  the  world  of  immediacy  is  wholly  in- 
verted and  turned  into  a  mere  phenomenon.  Large  intuitions, 
emotional  moods,  are  here  the  all-important  factors,  and  the 
glimpses  they  afford  into  the  world  around  us  are  rather  coloured 
by  their  own  peculiar  quality  than  faithfully  descriptive  of  the 
world  itself. 

The  essential  element  in  human  nature,  and  finally  in  the 
whole  of  reality,  consists,  according  to  Schopenhauer,  in  a  mys- 
terious impulse  toward  life,  a  blind  restlessly  struggling  will 
wholly  unguided  of  reason.  There  are  a  thousand  indications 
alike  in  the  human  sphere  and  the  great  world  of  nature,  that 
this  will  and  not  knowledge  is  the  all-impelling  agent.  In 
nature,  intelligence  yields  place  entirely  to  this  vital  impulsion; 
such  knowledge  as  is  here  developed  merely  subserves  the  inter- 
ests of  self-preservation.  With  man  the  intellect  is  certainly  freer, 
but  the  dominance  of  the  will  and  its  interests  is  obvious  even 
here.  Even  in  the  most  elevated  scientific  work,  knowledge  may 
easily  be  diverted  from  its  proper  channel,  if  once  the  personal 
aims  of  the  investigator  are  allowed  to  interfere. 

From  convictions  such  as  these  there  grew  up  an  entirely  novel 
view  of  nature,  a  view  in  which  sensibility  plays  an  important 
part.  The  classical  epoch  had  conceived  nature  as  a  world  cast 
in  an  artistic  mould,  the  home  of  aspiring  reason.  Roman- 
ticism had  glorified  it  into  a  realm  of  reposeful  grandeur  and 
blissful  peace;  but  now,  in  direct  contradiction  to  both  these 
views,  it  becomes  the  arena  where  the  blind  forces  of  life  surge 
and  do  battle  with  each  other.  Through  the  whole  of  nature 
there  runs  a  ruthless  instinct  of  self-preservation,  an  unqualified 
Will  to  Live.  Little  as  this  life  offers,  yet  the  little  is  grasped  with 
tenacious  greed.  So  narrow  are  the  boundaries  of  existence  that 
the  competing  organisms  are  ceaselessly  urged  and  incited  one 
against  the  other.  A  creature  like  the  carnivorous  amimal  cannot 


512  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

exist  at  all  without  continually  tearing  and  destroying  others. 
The  victor  soon  falls  a  prey  to  a  still  stronger  rival.  Thus  each 
creature  is  in  constant  danger,  constant  agitation,  and  the  whole 
with  its  restless,  meaningless  motion  is  a  tragedy  of  the  most 
piteous  kind. 

Does  man  fare  any  better?  Undoubtedly  in  man's  case  a  new 
factor  comes  into  operation:  the  will  becomes  enlightened  by 
intellect;  life  becomes  conscious,  the  outlook  freer,  the  sensi- 
bility finer.  But  the  development  tends  to  unhappiness  rather 
than  happiness.  The  limitation  and  misery  of  life  are  now  for 
the  first  time  felt  in  all  their  bitterness.  Man  with  his  finer 
nerves,  more  active  intelligence,  and  lively  fancy,  not  only  ex- 
periences the  misfortunes  which  actually  befall  him,  he  must 
experience  in  imagination  every  possibility  of  evil,  pass  through 
all  his  sorrow  a  thousand  times  over  in  anticipation.  Even  in 
his  moments  of  prosperity  cares  flit  around  him  like  ghosts. 
How  much  more  vivid  and  tormenting  is  his  thought  of  death 
than  that  of  the  dull  vegetative  animal!  Nay,  if  we  look  at  the 
matter  more  closely,  there  is  not  only  a  preponderance  of  un- 
happiness, but  there  actually  is  no  real  happiness.  Our  only 
positive  sensation  is  pain;  what  we  call  joy  is  really  only  the  re- 
moval or  alleviation  of  a  pain.  We  are  conscious  of  sickness,  but 
not  of  health;  of  loss,  but  not  of  possession.  Our  joys  are  lim- 
ited to  short  transition  periods  such  as  convalescence,  to  the  time 
when  we  are  just  attaining  well-being.  Soon  we  again  become 
listless,  unoccupied,  bored.  The  insatiable  appetite  for  life  which 
is  always  craving  some  fresh  distraction,  seeks  something  new 
and  different,  and  so  incurs  new  pains.  Thus  life  oscillates  like 
a  pendulum  between  pain  and  ennui.  All  the  arts  of  society  are, 
in  last  resort,  directed  merely  to  conjuring  away  this  ennui,  the 
emptiness  of  ordinary  humdrum  existence.  That  pain  is  in  truth 
the  only  real  factor  in  our  lives  is  demonstrated  also  by  the  poets, 
in  that  they  can  paint  the  tortures  of  hell  in  most  vivid  colours, 
whereas  for  heaven  nothing  is  left  but  monotony. 

All  this  might  be  borne  if  we  could  still  be  satisfied  with  our- 
selves, and  take  refuge  from  our  troubles  in  the  consciousness  of 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        513 

moral  integrity.  But  this  we  cannot  do.  The  motives  that  are 
base  in  us  far  outweigh  those  that  are  noble.  The  self-seeking 
which  is  natural  to  all  creatures  becomes  in  man  actual  badness 
and  wickedness.  In  everything  that  happens  around  him,  in  all 
that  befalls  his  friends  and  relations,  the  point  of  primary  im- 
portance for  him  is  what  advantage  or  harm  he  himself  may 
derive.  Hypocrisy  is  rampant;  every  one  is  anxious  to  appear 
noble  and  unselfish.  Vanity  and  folly  are  universally  prevalent. 
Men  care  about  the  most  worthless  things,  and  are  mainly  con- 
cerned with  raising  themselves  in  the  estimation  of  their  fellows, 
to  whom,  but  for  their  vanity,  they  are  so  profoundly  indifferent. 
And  all  these  vices  hold  us  in  a  remorseless  grip;  there  is  no 
possibility  of  an  inward  change,  a  moral  purification.  For 
strive  as  we  may,  the  character  which  prompts  the  striving  is 
unchangeable.  Outside  influences  can  affect  our  knowledge,  but 
not  our  will.  "Willing  cannot  be  learnt"  (velle  non  discitur). 
Evil  impulses  may  be  modified  by  advancing  culture,  and  assume 
a  form  less  dangerous  to  their  owner,  but  in  their  substance  they 
are  unchangeable.  Neither  from  history  nor  society  can  we 
glean  any  promise  of  a  change  for  the  better.  The  history  of  the 
world,  with  its  purposeless  activity  and  its  weight  of  woe,  must 
seem  to  an  unprejudiced  observer  nothing  more  than  a  disordered 
dream  of  humanity.  As  for  social  relations,  they  are  an  epitome 
of  unreason  rather  than  reason.  In  particular  the  political 
freedom  men  strive  for  conduces  far  more  to  an  unbridled  exhibi- 
tion of  selfishness  and  party  passion  than  to  an  inner  elevation  of 
life.  Thus  the  historical  ideals  and  hopes  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury here  meet  with  sharp  rebuff.  All  hope  of  salvation  seems  to 
vanish.  But  enchained  and  entangled  as  we  are  in  the  machinery 
of  the  universe,  we  yet  have  a  feeling  of  responsibility  which  we 
cannot  shake  off.  The  climax  of  our  miser}'  is  just  this,  that 
we  cannot  help  referring  it  to  our  own  free  agency  and  looking 
•spon  it  as  our  own  fault. 

This  contradiction  between  freedom  and  necessity,  while  it 
grievously  complicates  our  existence,  at  the  same  time  forces  us 
to  see  in  it  a  much  deeper  meaning.  Since  this  life  is  unintelli- 


514  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

gible  taken  in  itself  alone,  it  cannot  have  an  ultimate  value;  it 
must  originate  in  some  free  activity,  in  a  self-assertion  of  the 
will.  It  is  this  self-assertion  which  has  called  into  being  existence 
as  we  know  it  in  space  and  time,  and,  through  the  self-diremp- 
tion  it  involves,  has  engendered  those  countless,  mutually  hostile 
beings  whose  collision  is  responsible  for  all  the  sorrow  of  the 
world.  This  is  the  origin  of  that  unfathomed  misery  of  which 
we  are  so  painfully  conscious,  which  holds  us  so  fast  in  its  re- 
morseless grip. 

And  yet  the  philosopher  does  not  despair  of  help.  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  some  hope  for  the  alleviation  of  misery  in  the  cul- 
tivation of  a  contemplative  attitude  toward  the  world.  Art  and 
science  both  foster  the  development  of  such  an  attitude.  They 
both  focus  attention  on  the  objective  aspect  of  things,  and  absorb 
us  in  the  intuitive  contemplation  of  it.  The  restlessness  of 
willing  is  allayed,  the  passions  appeased;  self-interest,  with  its 
agitations,  cares  and  pains,  vanishes  quite  away.  And  this  is 
all  the  more  true  in  that  Schopenhauer,  arbitrarily  enough,  sees 
in  the  elemental  forms  of  nature  beautiful  shapes,  resembling 
the  Platonic  Ideas,  and  so  gives  to  merely  ordinary  contemplation 
the  dignity  of  an  artistic  outlook. 

The  emancipating  power  of  this  artistic  contemplation  is 
manifested  best  in  genius,  which  in  its  intuitions  and  creations 
attains  complete  objectivity,  and  therewith  forgets  entirely  the 
world  and  its  ways.  Even  those  who  are  not  geniuses  have  their 
moments  of  contemplation,  like  oases  in  the  desert  of  existence. 
This  reference  to  pure  intuition  gives  to  science  and  art  a  wholly 
different  character  from  that  which  they  had  for  Hegel.  Hegel 
sought  in  every  spiritual  product  one  illuminating  idea;  Scho- 
penhauer lays  the  whole  emphasis  on  the  overmastering  strength 
of  the  immediate  impression,  the  awakening  of  a  mood  free  from 
all  volition.  Thus  science,  for  Schopenhauer,  approximates  to 
art;  and  supreme  among  the  arts  is  music,  for  music  repro- 
duces all  the  emotions  of  our  inmost  soul,  without  the  pain  in- 
volved hi  their  actual  realisation.  Drama,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  its  tragic  issue,  makes  all  life  appear  like  an  evil  dream, 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        515 

and  fosters  the  conviction  that  there  must  be  another  existence 
quite  different  from  that  which  here  surrounds  us. 

This,  however,  is  no  solution  of  the  problem;  it  only  pushes  it 
a  little  further  back;  it  is  a  palliative  of  misery,  not  a  cure. 
Moreover,  it  is  a  method  not  available  always  and  for  every  one. 
The  only  thing  that  can  effect  a  real  emancipation  is  a  complete 
breaking  of  the  will  to  live,  and  this  again  can  only  be  effected 
by  a  strong  and  genuine  compassion  for  everything  that  lives  and 
suffers,  not  only  for  humanity,  but  for  every  sentient  crea- 
ture. In  so  far  as  this  is  true,  the  way  of  salvation  is  not  through 
science  or  art,  but  through  morality,  Since,  however,  compas- 
sion of  this  kind  makes  us  feel  the  sorrow  of  others  exactly  as 
though  it  were  our  own,  and  so  concentrates  in  one  single  point 
the  whole  weight  of  the  wrorld's  misery,  the  suffering  becomes  too 
great  to  bear.  All  hope  of  escape  must  vanish,  all  pleasure  in 
life  be  destroyed.  If  life  is  all  a  fiery  furnace  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  cool  spots,  the  only  hope  for  the  individual  is  that  he 
may  light  upon  just  those  spots.  But  as  soon  as  his  sensibility 
widens  its  range  so  as  to  take  in  all  other  beings  and  recognise 
himself  in  them  all,  this  hope  is  gone.  The  will  withdraws  into 
itself;  life  no  longer  has  a  positive  content;  it  becomes  negative. 
And  what  happens  hi  man,  the  crown  and  roof  of  things,  justi- 
fies us  in  hoping  for  a  revolution  in  the  universe  as  a  whole. 
This  whole  existence  will  break  up,  as  indeed  it  was  only  through 
the  unrestrained,  tumultuous  vitality  of  the  will  that  it  arose  in 
the  first  instance.  Thus  here  we  have  a  glimpse  of  a  great  de- 
liverance, a  haven  of  peace  and  rest,  which  yet  is  not  a  blank 
nothingness,  save  for  him  to  whom  this  immediate  world  of 
seeming  is  the  true  and  ultimate  reality. 

Our  judgment  of  Schopenhauer  will  vary,  accordingly  as  we 
base  it  upon  the  value  of  his  contribution  to  the  evolution  of  his- 
tory, or  look  upon  his  results  as  in  themselves  final.  In  the 
former  case  we  must  regard  his  ideas  as  a  justifiable  and  import- 
ant reaction  from  the  optimism  and  enthusiastic  faith  hi  civilisa- 
tion characteristic  not  only  of  the  Enlightenment  but  also 
of  the  German  Humanistic  movement  and,  we  might  even  add, 


5i6  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  whole  modern  period.  A  strong  buoyant  vitality  had  induced 
man  to  represent  reality  as  a  realm  of  pure  reason,  to  look  upon 
the  bright  side  of  things,  to  overcome  the  contradiction  of  imme- 
diate impressions  by  placing  them  in  the  setting  of  some  artistic 
Oi  logical  system.  This  tendency  was  bound,  by  its  very  ad- 
vance, to  overreach  itself  and  elicit  a  protest.  It  was  Schopen- 
hauer who  voiced  this  protest  with  admirable  independence  and 
gave  it  classical  expression.  He  carries  our  convictions  unre- 
servedly with  him,  when  he  makes  us  feel  at  every  point  the  irra- 
tionality of  our  world.  He  brings  into  the  foreground  fresh  as- 
pects of  experience,  fresh  groups  of  facts;  he  not  only  criticises 
but  constructs,  indicating  new  views  and  new  problems.  His 
decisive  rejection  of  the  solutions  hitherto  attempted  works,  and 
will  continue  to  work,  as  an  antidote  to  shallowness  and  super- 
ficiality. Philosophy,  on  its  own  ground,  here  deals  a  deadly 
blow  to  all  easy  optimism  and  rationalism.  The  tendency  to 
represent  the  world  and  life  as  fairly  smooth  and  tolerable  to  man 
is  given  no  quarter  whatsoever. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  recognise  Schopenhauer's  importance  in 
this  respect,  and  quite  another  to  revere  him  as  the  master  whose 
word  is  unconditionally  and  finally  valid.  This  position  is  quite 
untenable  in  face  of  the  fact  that  his  treatment  and  valuation  of 
things  is,  at  least,  as  one-sided  as  that  which,  he  has  declared  war 
against,  and  even  more  subjective  in  character.  If  emphasis 
was  then  laid  too  exclusively  on  the  light,  there  is  now  an  actual 
courting  of  shadow.  The  philosopher  revels  with  undisguised 
satisfaction  in  his  gruesome  colouring.  Just  as,  in  general,  man 
finds  in  reality  what  he  brings  to  it,  so  here  this  discrepancy  in 
the  judgment  passed  upon  experience  points  to  a  fundamental 
difference  in  the  way  of  looking  at  life.  It  was  the  predominance 
of  the  active  impulses  that  made  the  world  so  important  to  the 
earlier  thinkers,  for  it  was  in  the  world  that  their  activity  could 
develop  and  find  its  best  expression.  Schopenhauer,  on  the  other 
hand,  relates  all  that  happens  to  the  subjective  life,  to  sensibility 
and  emotional  disposition;  his  attitude  toward  reality  is  rather 
contemplative  than  active.  And  since  in  him  this  tendency  is 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        517 

allied  with  a  suspicious  and  timid  disposition,  he  reaches  a  view 
of  reality  as  a  whole  that  is  certainly  very  characteristic  and  has 
a  considerable  amount  of  justification,  but  he  is  never  able  to 
look  at  it  impartially  and  do  justice  to  its  various  aspects. 
He  exposes  it  to  a  glaring  slant-light,  whose  sharp  contrast 
effects,  while  exciting  the  emotions,  yield  a  very  one-sided  and 
even  distorted  picture. 

Man,  as  Schopenhauer  represents  him,  is  a  mere  combination 
of  crude  natural  propensities  and  over-refined  but  ineffectual 
spirituality.  With  his  defencelessness  both  from  outside  foes 
and  internal  attack,  he  is  like  Prometheus  bound  to  his  rock. 
Schopenhauer  recognises  no  reasonable  will,  no  ethical  person- 
ality, but  only  a  blind  desire.  He  can  find  no  place  for  a  move- 
ment from  within,  for  a  thorough  regeneration  of  human  nature 
through  sorrow  and  love,  through  work  and  faith.  Thus  at 
every  critical  point  he  shows  a  poverty  of  spiritual  content,  and 
puts  the  soul  under  the  dominion  of  an  insatiable  thirst  for 
happiness,  which  can  lead  only,  for  well  or  for  ill,  to  a  final 
renunciation. 

Yet  never  would  Schopenhauer  have  acquired  the  influence  he 
has  had  if  there  had  not  been  some  other  tendency  at  work  in 
him,  of  a  better  and  deeper  kind.  He  possesses  a  tremendous 
energy  of  metaphysical  conviction,  which  brings  into  clear 
consciousness  the  mysterious  element  in  human  existence  and 
degrades  the  outer  world  of  immediacy  into  a  mere  realm  of 
appearance.  He  has  given  admirable  expression  to  certain  funda- 
mental ethical  feelings.  He  is  a  great  artist,  not  only  in  virtue 
of  the  fresh,  transparent,  penetrating  quality  of  his  style,  but 
above  all,  in  the  skill  with  which  he  transforms  all  this  mysteri- 
ously complex  world  into  an  ideal  construction  aesthetically  de- 
signed. Everything  becomes  thereby  ennobled  and  a  counter- 
poise is  provided  to  the  weight  of  the  real  world  which  otherwise 
would  crush  man  down  and  destroy  all  his  initiative.  Is  it  not 
true  that,  in  virtue  of  this  metaphysical,  ethical,  artistic  contribu- 
tion, the  spiritual  life  becomes  vastly  more  active  than  Schopen- 
hauer's ideas,  if  taken  strictly,  would  allow  ?  Is  this  not  another 


Si8  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

instance  of  a  man's  thought  being  much  wider  and  richer  than 
his  system? 

The  predominance  of  the  negative  element  in  Schopenhauer  is, 
however,  quite  sufficient  to  explain  why  he  was  so  slow  in  attain- 
ing recognition  and  influence.  So  long  as  a  glad  confidence  in 
life  prevailed,  and  men  could  overcome  all  opposition  by  sum- 
moning their  spiritual  energies  to  the  task,  Schopenhauer's  sys- 
tem could  not  seem  anything  more  than  an  odd  piece  of  eccen- 
tricity. It  was  only  when  idealism  had  been  worsted  by  realism 
and  the  limitations  of  realism  had  shortly  afterward  made  them- 
selves felt — only  when  men's  energies  were  relaxed  and  a  spirit 
of  doubt  was  abroad,  that  Schopenhauer's  day  came,  that  there 
was  room  for  pessimism.  As  a  protest,  however,  not  only  against 
passing  tendencies,  but  against  the  main  drift  of  modern  culture, 
his  work  will  not  so  easily  become  obsolete. 

HI.  THE  MOVEMENT  TOWARD  REALISM 

In  German  speculation  and  in  German  Idealism  generally  we 
have  the  culmination,  and  at  the  same  time  the  close,  of  a  move- 
ment in  which  all  civilised  nations  bore  a  part,  but  which  in 
Germany  was  far  more  highly  developed  than  elsewhere  and 
conspicuously  rich  in  creative  genius.  This  movement  was  an 
immanental  idealism,  which  sought  to  hold  fast  to  the  spiritual 
inwardness  of  the  old  religious  view  of  life,  but  at  the  same  time 
aimed  at  extending  its  range  over  the  whole  of  human  existence, 
thereby  raising  it  to  a  higher  level.  On  the  other  hand,  right 
from  the  dawn  of  the  modern  era,  there  had  been  a  counteracting 
influence  at  work,  tending  to  concentrate  all  human  activities 
within  the  immediate  world  of  sense,  and  to  fashion  accordingly 
the  life  of  man.  Already  in  the  eighteenth  century  this  realistic 
movement  was  active  both  in  England  and  France,  and  had 
achieved  important  results;  but  the  peculiar  conditions  of  life  in 
Germany,  tending  as  they  did  to  encourage  an  intellectual  and 
literary  culture,  militated  against  its  success  in  that  country. 
Thus  when  in  the  nineteenth  century  realism  became  the 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        519 

dominating  influence  in  human  culture,  it  was  in  Germany  that 
the  revolution  was  most  keenly  felt.  It  would  be  almost  impos- 
sible to  understand  how,  from  being  a  nation  of  poets  and  think- 
ers, the  Germans  could  so  quickly  assume  the  leadership  in  tech- 
nical and  industrial  matters,  did  we  not  remember  that  in  yet 
earlier  times  they  had  shown  themselves  both  strong  and  skilful 
in  practical  affairs,  and  that  not  till  the  Reformation  had  the 
stress  been  laid  so  predominantly  on  the  development  of  the  spir- 
itual faculties.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  certainly  in  nineteenth 
century  Germany  that  we  have  the  most  obvious  instance  of  the 
suppression  of  the  old  order  by  the  new,  of  idealism  by  realism. 

The  shifting  of  the  emphasis  was  particularly  manifest  in  the 
years  just  before  and  after  1830.  The  natural  sciences,  in  which 
the  Germans  had  hitherto  lagged  behind,  became  now  a  leading 
force  in  the  national  life,  and  influenced  its  whole  attitude 
toward  the  world.  In  1826  Liebig  set  up  in  Giessen  a  chemical 
laboratory  on  a  new  model;  and  in  the  winter  of  1827-1828,  Alex- 
ander von  Humboldt  delivered  in  the  University  and  the  "  Sing- 
akademie  "  at  Berlin  public  lectures  on  physical  cosmography, 
which  were  intended  to  attract  a  wider  public  toward  the  study 
of  the  natural  sciences.  The  same  period  witnessed  technical 
discoveries  which  immeasurably  lessened  the  difficulties  of  inter- 
course, gave  fresh  impetus  to  economic  production,  and  entirely 
revolutionised  the  conditions  under  which  production  had  hith- 
erto been  carried  on.  In  1827  there  was  the  invention  of  the 
screw-propeller,  which  first  made  steam  navigation  an  effective 
means  of  world  communication;  in  1830  the  railway  was  in- 
vented. England  here  led  the  way,  but  the  other  nations  were 
not  slow  to  follow.  At  the  same  time,  the  July  Revolution  in 
Paris  was  sowing  the  seeds  of  similar  movements  in  Germany  as 
well  as  in  the  other  European  countries.  The  desire  of  the  citi- 
zens for  greater  political  freedom,  for  more  share  in  matters  of 
public  concern,  was  never  again  to  be  lulled  to  sleep.  From  the 
economic  point  of  view,  the  rise  of  Germany's  power  dates  from 
January  i,  1834,  the  date  of  the  establishment  of  the  German 
"  Zoll-und-Handelsverein."  Meanwhile  the  giants  of  the  previ- 


520  ,  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ous  generation  were  passing  away,  without  leaving  any  adequate 
successors.  In  1827  Pestalozzi  died;  in  1831,  Hegel;  in  1832, 
Goethe;  in  1834,  Schleiermacher.  Clearly  one  period  was  wan- 
ing and  another  dawning.  And  nowhere  were  the  changes 
greater  than  in  Germany.  No  nation  had  more  difficulty  in  re- 
establishing the  balance  of  its  inward  life.  Still  Germany  only 
affords  a  particularly  clear  illustration  of  what  was,  after  all,  the 
common  lot  and  common  problem  of  all  the  civilised  peoples. 

The  new  movement  seeks  to  rivet  man's  interest  entirely  upon 
his  environment;  his  relationship  to  the  environment  is  to  deter- 
mine the  whole  course  of  his  life  and  thought.  The  conception  of 
the  world  is  now  influenced  less  by  speculative  philosophy  than 
by  the  natural  sciences.  Attention  is  no  longer  directed  so  much 
to  the  cultivation  of  the  individual  mind  through  art  and  liter- 
ature as  to  the  bettering  of  political  and  social  relations.  This 
involves  a  corresponding  change  of  method.  No  longer,  forget- 
ful of  sense-existence,  do  men  seek  for  undiscovered  worlds  in 
bold,  imaginative  flight;  they  must  bide  closely  and  faithfully 
by  the  matter  in  hand.  Their  procedure  now  bears  the  unmis- 
takable stamp  of  work.  Hardly  anything  is  so  characteristic  of 
the  nineteenth  century  as  the  increased  importance  of  work.  It  is 
true  that  great  industry  and  diligence  have  been  shown  in  other 
centuries  also,  and  that  even  quite  early  periods  offer  remarkable 
examples  of  it.  But  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the  character  of  the 
work  itself  changes  very  materially;  it  is  no  longer  concerned 
with  the  inner  life  and  aims  of  the  individual,  but  is  intimately 
bound  up  with  a  world  of  objects;  it  busies  itself  with  the  struct- 
ure, laws  and  necessities  of  this  external  world,  and  champions 
it  victoriously  as  against  man.  It  effects  what  is,  perhaps,  the 
greatest  emancipation  of  the  nineteenth  century,  an  emancipa- 
tion from  man,  and  makes  him  the  mere  pliant  tool  of  its  own 
unresting  advance.  As  work  thus  assumes  an  independent 
status,  it  forms  itself  into  complex  organisations  which  assume 
gigantic  proportions.  This  is  true  of  industrial  work  with  its 
great  factories;  of  commerce,  with  its  world-wide  ramifications; 
and  also  of  science  with  its  growing  tendency  to  specialise.  The 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        521 

individual  must  find  his  place  within  these  complex  organisa- 
tions; he  is  insignificant  and  powerless  so  soon  as  he  tries  to  sever 
himself  from  them.  But  the  limitation  of  individual  power 
means  a  corresponding  increase  in  the  collective  capacity  of  man- 
kind. Nature  reveals  to  advancing  knowledge  forces  and  con- 
nections hitherto  undreamt  of,  and  technical  skill  places  them 
all  at  the  service  of  man.  Again,  in  man's  own  peculiar  sphere, 
reason  asserts  itself  more  and  more,  and  the  irrational  is  elim- 
inated. Life  gains  in  richness  and  variety.  The  organisation 
of  labour  makes  it  possible  to  deal  with  political  and  social  prob- 
lems which  hitherto  had  seemed  quite  intractable. 

Work,  however,  could  not  have  become  so  potent  and  pro- 
ductive but  for  the  support  which  it  obtained  through  a  strength- 
ening of  the  elemental  bonds  of  reciprocity  and  tradition,  through 
a  growth  of  society  and  history.  It  is  particuarly  in  this  respect 
that  the  nineteenth  century  presents  such  a  direct  contrast  to  the 
eighteenth.  For  the  eighteenth  was  mainly  occupied  with  the 
emancipation  of  the  individual  from  the  general  body  of  social 
ordinances,  which,  in  the  lapse  of  time,  had  become  enslaving 
fetters.  To  authority  and  tradition  it  opposed  the  claims  of  the 
living  present^  and  fell  back  for  its  defence  upon  a  timeless  reason. 
Already  there  had  been  protest  and  reaction  even  within  the 
idealistic  camp.  Romanticists  and  philosophers  alike  had  united 
to  do  honour  to  history,  till,  with  Hegel,  the  revulsion  of  feeling 
had  resulted  in  an  almost  dangerous  exaggeration  of  the  value  of 
the  State.  But  all  the  time,  history  and  society  had  at  the  back 
of  them  a  spiritual  world;  their  value  lay  in  the  fact  that  they 
were  expressions  of  this  world,  and  not  in  any  virtue  of  their 
own.  Realism,  however,  drops  all  connections  of  an  unseen  kind, 
and  finds  in  history  and  society,  in  their  immediate  practical 
aspect,  the  workshop  in  which  all  spiritual  life  is  produced,  the 
only  sphere  with  which  man  has  any  concern.  Our  existence  is 
stamped  far  more  clearly  than  before  as  partly  historical,  partly 
social,  and  the  near  world  at  our  feet,  so  often  looked  down  upon 
with  contempt  by  idealists,  gains  wonderfully  in  richness  of  con- 
tent and  energy  of  movement.  It  is  only  because  the  philosoph- 


522  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

ical  century  was  succeeded  by  one  of  predominantly  historical 
and  social  interests  that  realism  has  been  able  to  take  ovej  the 
guidance  of  life  and  fashion  it  in  accordance  with  realistic 
standards. 

But  what  distinguishes  modern  realism  from  all  previous 
movements  of  a  realistic  kind  is  its  insatiable  desire  for  suprem- 
acy, and  its  concern  for  positive  results.  The  older  realism  was 
critical  in  nature,  a  movement  or  opposition,  a  reaction  against 
accepted  traditions  of  life;  it  was  not  an  independent,  con- 
structive force.  Modern  realism,  on  the  other  hand,  aims  at 
assuming  the  whole  direction  of  life  and  shaping  it  to  its  own 
ends.  It  does  not  question  the  ideal  requirements  of  humanity, 
but  it  reads  them  in  a  different  sense,  and  in  this  sense  hopes  to 
be  able  to  satisfy  them  completely. 

The  aim  and  hope  of  this  modern  realism  is  to  make  life 
throughout  truer,  richer  and  stronger,  by  calling  man  away  from 
his  castles  in  the  air  and  placing  him  on  the  solid  rock  of  sense- 
experience.  Life  passes  thus  from  a  region  of  toying  and  trifling 
into  a  realm  of  truth,  and  gains  fresh  strength  and  coherency  in 
readjusting  itself  to  a  resisting  environment.  This  change  in 
general  attitude  cannot  fail  to  affect  the  various  departments  of 
life  taken  individually.  This  is  quite  obvious  in  the  case  of 
science,  but  it  is  not  less  true  of  religion,  morality  and  art. 
The  development  of  a  positive  system  of  religious  belief  is  hardly 
possible  for  realism,  limited  as  it  is  to  the  sphere  of  the  visible 
world,  but  it  seeks  to  understand  religion,  and  is  prepared  to  ad- 
mit it  as  a  necessary  phase  and  stage  of  human  development. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  new  order  of  life  naturally  gives  rise  to 
fresh  moral  problems  and  incentives.  Since  work,  the  giver  of 
insight,  has  as  its  basis  the  whole  structure  of  historical  and 
social  relations,  it  exacts  from  individuals  complete  submission, 
glad  readiness  to  sacrifice  self  in  the  interests  of  the  whole,  in- 
defatigable co-operation  from  each  worker  in  his  own  appointed 
station.  To  raise  the  standard  of  general  well-being  now  becomes 
the  main  end  of  action.  The  ethics  of  self-realisation  gives  place 
to  the  ethics  of  "altruism,"  of  action  for  others.  There  is  an 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        523 

ethical  element  too  in  that  greater  respect  for  the  existing  order 
which  is  exacted  from  the  individual.  While  recognising  the 
limitations  of  this  order  and  resigning  himself  to  much  that  is 
inevitable,  he  must  still  realise  the  energy  and  joy  of  work. 
Art  also  must  adjust  itself  to  the  realistic  mode  of  thought.  It 
must  not  seek  to  portray  new  worlds,  but  rather  content  itself 
with  teaching  us  a  more  accurate  observation  of  reality  as  it  is. 

A  new  life  of  this  kind  will  naturally  give  rise  to  new  ways  of 
looking  at  life;  nor  need  they  lack  variety,  since  the  visible 
world  has  many  different  aspects,  and  we  can,  therefore,  choose 
our  own  stand-point,  and  in  particular  allow  either  nature  or 
.society  to  dictate  our  general  attitude.  There  are,  accordingly, 
three  main  currents  of  thought:  Positivism,  seeking  a  recon- 
ciliation of  nature  and  society;  Evolution,  introducing  a  new 
conception  of  nature,  and  social  theories,  particularly  those  of 
Social  Democracy,  demanding  a  regeneration  of  society. 

There  is  a  solid  support  for  these  views  of  life  in  their  close 
connection  with  the  work  of  the  period  to  which  they  belong. 
They  also  have  the  further  advantage  of  keeping  in  close  touch 
with  immediate  impressions,  and  so  affect  life  more  directly,  and 
extend  their  influence  more  rapidly.  It  can  scarcely  be  doubted 
that  they  contain  and  suggest  much  that  is  valuable  even  with 
regard  to  the  broader  issues  of  experience.  But  it  is,  neverthe- 
less, a  crucial  question  whether  they  can  make  good  their  claim 
to  supply  unaided  a  complete  theory  of  life  and  satisfy  all  human 
needs.  Does  not  the  attempt  imply  an  intolerable  degradation 
and  restriction  of  human  life  ?  Could  it  have  achieved  what  it 
has  done  without  borrowing  largely  from  the  very  Idealism 
which  it  so  vehemently  attacks  ?  But  we  must  first  study  these 
views  in  their  own  setting,  endeavouring  to  show  what  new  light 
they  throw  upon  reality  and  what  fresh  stimulus  they  afford. 

(a)  Positivism 

We  are  here  taking  Positivism  in  its  larger  meaning,  including 
as  Positivists  all  those  thinkers  who,  from  the  stand-point  of  ex- 
perience, were  anxious  to  keep  nature  and  society  together  and 


524  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

equally  emphasise  both.  In  this  way  we  can  discuss  men  like 
Mill  and  Spencer,  without  imputing  to  them  any  relation  of 
mere  dependence  upon  the  French  Positivistic  movement.* 

(a)   FRENCH  POSITIVISM.      COMTE 

The  leading  ideas  of  Positivism  originate  as  far  back  as  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  are  mainly  traceable  to  English  think- 
ers, but  it  is  Comte's  peculiar  merit  to  have  welded  them  together 
into  a  system  and  made  them  fully  effective  in  every  department 
of  life. 

The  essential  meaning  of  Positivism  is  sufficiently  indicated 
by  its  name :  it  is  the  strict  limitation  of  thought,  and  also  of  life, 
to  that  which  is  "positive,"  i.  e.,  to  the  world  of  immediate 
observation  and  experience.  Every  attempt  to  get  behind  this 
world  and  explain  its  constitution  with  reference  to  some  other 
world  appears  hopeless  from  the  outset,  and  no  less  foredoomed 
to  failure  is  the  endeavour  to  establish  practical  relations  with 
another  world.  A  limitation  of  this  kind  has  in  many  ways  a 
strongly  negative  implication.  There  is  no  room  here  for  a  relig- 
ion, with  its  belief  in  God  and  a  future  life.  However  true  it 
may  be  that  the  sphere  of  our  experience,  being  purely  concerned 
with  relations,  cannot  make  up  the  whole  of  reality  but  must 
have  something  else  behind  it,  yet  the  nature  of  this  Beyond 
remains  shrouded  in  impenetrable  obscurity.  We  must,  there- 
fore, give  up  all  religion  in  the  old  sense  of  the  term,  and  not  only 
religion,  but  speculative  thinking  as  well.  For  speculation  also, 
with  its  ideas  and  principles,  oversteps  the  limits  of  experience 
and  leads  us  astray.  By  the  portrayal  of  absolute  ends,  attain- 
able in  one  upward  sweep,  it  excites  in  us  vain  hopes,  useless 
agitation,  and  bitter  disappointment.  We  must  ask  no  lomger, 
Whence  ?  and  Whither  ?  but  strictly  limit  our  whole  action — its 
aims  and  its  methods — to  the  world  immediately  about  us. 

This  world,  however,  once  rid  of  all  illusions,  becomes  incom- 
parably more  significant  for  both  knowledge  and  action.  The  il- 
limitable network  of  relations,  which  is  the  aspect  it  now  assumes, 

•  See  Appendix  Q. 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        525 

is  no  mere  chaotic  confusion;  amid  all  the  diversity  of  events 
there  is  uniformity  in  sequence  as  in  co-existence,  that  is,  con- 
formity to  law.  Each  single  event  constitutes  a  particular  case 
of  a  general  law.  To  ascertain  these  uniformities,  these  laws, 
becomes  the  main  task  of  science.  It  is  true  that  they  are  no 
explanation,  but  merely  a  description,  of  events.  Still  the  power 
to  grasp  in  this  way  the  fundamental  features  of  the  universe  is 
not  only  a  great  gain  in  itself;  it  paves  the  way  for  effective 
action  and  ensures  a  higher  standard  of  living.  For  to  grasp  the 
connections  of  things  enables  uS  to  infer  from  one  fact  to  an- 
other, and  to  foresee  what  will  happen;  and  he  who  foresees  can 
likewise  calculate,  and  shape  things  to  his  own  ends.  Foresight 
is  the  lever  of  power.  Thus  theory  and  practice  are  but  links 
in  a  single  chain.  The  aim  of  all  true  knowledge  is  to  see  in 
order  to  foresee  (voir  pour  prevoir).  We  may,  accordingly, 
expect  that  the  limitation  of  life  to  experience  will  result  in  a 
great  increase  of  happiness  and  a  satisfaction  of  all  the  essential 
requirements  of  our  nature.  We  give  up  a  visionary,  and  gain  in 
return  a  real  happiness. 

This  limitation  of  life's  sphere  brings  man  back  to  his  true 
position  in  the  universe.  It  was  only  possible  for  us  to  transcend 
experience  so  long  as  we  read  our  own  nature  into  the  universe, 
ordered  it  according  to  our  wishes,  made  ourselves  the  centre  of 
reality.  Now  this  delusion  must  go;  it  is  we  who  must  accom- 
modate ourselves  to  the  universe,  and  recognise  that  it  is  only 
through  the  development  of  our  relations  to  the  environment  that 
we  can  use  our  powers  rightly  and  hope  for  any  true  happiness. 

But,  we  may  ask,  is  this  simplification,  this  recognition  of  our 
limitations,  anything  so  very  new?  Is  it  important  enough  to 
give  rise  to  a  whole  new  system  of  life  ?  A  study  of  the  past,  a 
philosophical  review  of  history,  justifies  us  in  answering  Yes. 
For  it  shows  most  unmistakably  that  this  enlightenment  is  only 
the  culmination  of  a  long  process,  that  only  very  slowly  has 
humanity  moved  from  error  toward  truth.  The  process  has 
been  accomplished  in  three  main  stages:  religious,  metaphysi- 
cal and  positive.  \Vhen  man,  released  from  the  pressure  of 


526  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

physical  needs,  first  began  to  think  freely  and  venture  to  form 
a  general  picture  of  reality,  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  read 
into  the  universe  human  traits  and  human  conditions — ascribe 
to  things,  just  as  children  do,  a  life  similar  to  man's,  and,  in  a 
word,  personify  them.  This  is  the  stage  of  religious  belief  which 
considers  the  universe  to  be  governed  by  gods  resembling  men, 
and  is  mainly  concerned  with  the  winning  of  their  favour.  This 
religious  stage  runs  through  several  phases,  varying  from  a  crude 
fetichism  to  a  refined  polytheism — according  to  Comte,  the 
highest  type  of  religious  belief — and  so  on  to  a  theism,  in  which 
the  sensuous  and  human  element  is  already  growing  dim,  and 
the  transition  to  the  metaphysical  stage  is  beginning.  At  this 
stage  abstract  principles  become  increasingly  potent,  concepts 
such  as  reason,  nature,  purpose,  force  and  so  on.  The  grosser 
forms  of  anthropomorphism  are  overcome,  but  only  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  an  anthropomorphism  of  a  subtler  and  perhaps  more 
dangerous  kind.  The  struggle  now  centres  round  principles;  it 
is  through  the  energetic  pursuit  of  abstract  ideas  that  men  think 
to  win  happiness.  At  length  this  metaphysical  stage  with  its 
revolutionary  temper  gives  way  to  the  positivistic  belief,  which 
had  been  slowly  maturing  for  a  long  time,  and  at  last  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  makes  a  bold  bid  for  power.  Positivism  assigns 
the  control  of  life  to  natural  science,  which,  on  its  theoretical 
side,  moulds  our  ideas,  and  on  its  technical  side,  our  work,  mak- 
ing possible  for  the  first  time  a  work  which  is  really  work,  a 
purposive  manipulation  of  the  environment.  There  is  still  room 
for  philosophy,  but  it  is  to  be  limited  to  the  task  of  reducing  the 
results  of  natural  science  to  their  most  general  expression, 
systematising  them,  and  at  the  same  time  setting  forth  the 
general  theory  of  true  scientific  method. 

The  view  of  historical  development  which  is  here  suggested  is 
extremely  one-sided  and  open  to  criticism.  But  rooted  as  it  is 
in  a  unique  conviction,  which  is  maintained  and  developed  with 
vigorous  persistence,  it  puts  things  in  a  peculiar  and  often  unex- 
pected light.  Comte' s  general  view  of  history  is  in  many  ways 
akin  to  that  of  Leibniz.  All  progress  is  effected  through  a  slow 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        527 

and  continuous  growth;  the  later  stages  are  already  implicit  in 
the  earlier;  the  changes  that  pass  for  revolutions  are  the  product 
of  a  gradual  development.  Thus  the  possibilities  of  the  present 
are  strictly  limited.  We  may  not  snatch  with  violent  hand  at  the 
improvements  which  are  reserved  for  some  future  age  to  effect. 
And  yet  no  work  is  in  vain;  even  the  most  insignificant  contribu- 
tion is  an  indispensable  stone  in  the  whole  structure  of  history. 
It  is  intelligence  which  is  the  propelling  power  of  the  whole;  the 
stage  of  development  which  it  happens  to  have  reached  deter- 
mines the  peculiar  character  of  the  work  done  and  the  form  which 
life  generally  assumes.  But  whereas  with  Leibniz  knowledge 
was  an  inward  illumination,  with  Comte  it  is  the  right  adjust- 
ment of  our  relation  to  the  environment.  Greater  stress  is  thus 
laid  on  the  relativity  of  things;  we  are  more  strongly  urged  to 
seize  on  the  present  and  fulfil  its  demands.  He  alone  can  wield 
an  effectual  influence  over  his  age  who  has  accurately  under- 
stood its  peculiarities  and  adjusts  his  action  accordingly.  Comte 
finds  the  maxim  as  true  for  his  own  age  as  for  its  predecessors. 
Now  Comte  found  already  in  existence  certain  positivistic 
tendencies  which  had  been  steadily  growing  during  the  past  few 
centuries.  His  problem  consists  in  bringing  these  to  full  self- 
consciousness,  and  elaborating  them  into  a  system.  To  this  end, 
all  relics  of  the  previous  stages,  all  such  abstract  ideas  and  ab- 
stract theories  as  are  still  in  force,  must  be  banished,  and  the  new 
mode  of  thought  introduced  even  into  domains  which  have  hith- 
erto been  closed  to  it.  Thus  it  becomes  important  to  pass  in  re- 
view the  various  departments  of  science  and  ascertain  what  has 
been  accomplished  in  each,  and  what  is  still  lacking.  Now 
Comte  distinguishes  five  main  disciplines:  Astronomy,  Physics, 
Chemistry,  Biology,  Sociology  (a  word  newly  coined) ;  each  dis- 
cipline standing  in  greater  need  of  positivistic  reconstruction  than 
its  predecessor  in  the  series.  Astronomy  and  Physics,  under  the 
guidance  of  Mathematics,  are  already  in  practical  accord  with 
the  new  requirements;  Chemistry  is  still  full  of  confused  ideas 
and  subjective  explanations.  Biology  also,  the  main  scientific 
contribution  of  the  nineteenth  century,  is  still  in  the  making;  but 


528  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

it  is,  above  all.  social  life,  the  final  and  culminating  stage  of  expe- 
rience, which  awaits  scientific  treatment.  Such  treatment  is 
indeed  imperatively  necessary,  in  view  of  the  problems  and  com- 
plications of  present-day  life. 

Comte's  description  of  this  life  refers  primarily  to  the  social 
condition  of  France  during  the  bourgeois  monarchy  of  Louis- 
Philippe,  but  it  also  applies  to  features  which  are  common  to  the 
whole  of  the  modern  period.  It  is  a  lively  and  incisive  piece  of 
writing.  The  main  source  of  all  evils  is  intellectual  disorder 
(desordre  intellecluel).  Each  thinks  as  he  wills  and  does  as  he 
likes.  Egoism,  material  interests,  political  corruption  find  no 
adequate,  counteracting  force.  There  are  no  great  unifying  ideas : 
it  is  an  age  of  half-beliefs  and  half-volitions.  Life  becomes  shal- 
low, swayed  as  it  is  by  the  fugitive  moment  and  the  passing  im- 
pression. Rhetorical  and  literary  skill  have  far  more  influence 
than  solid  achievements.  Whereas  judges  and  scholars  once 
took  the  lead  in  France,  the  ascendency  now  passes  into  the 
hands  of  lawyers  and  literati.  It  is  true  that  technical  work  is 
ever  on  the  increase,  but  man  is  very  far  from  growing  corre- 
spondingly in  importance.  As  specialisation  increases,  the 
teachers  become  of  very  much  less  value  than  their  teaching; 
the  building  is  vastly  more  important  than  the  architect.  This 
condition  of  intellectual  cleavage  is  unfavourable  soil  for  art, 
since  art  cannot  accomplish  anything  great  so  long  as  creator 
and  recipient  are  not  bound  together  by  the  tie  of  a  common 
conviction.  Religion  again  is  chiefly  concerned  with  inspiring  in 
its  adherents  an  instinctive  and  unconquerable  hate  toward 
those  of  a  different  persuasion.  Moreover,  the  modern  man  is 
apt  to  regard  religion  as  indispensable  for  other  people,  but 
superfluous  for  himself.  Finally,  political  life  suffers  grievously 
from  the  fact  that  thought  is  tending  in  two  different  directions, 
conservative  and  progressive.  Conservatism  finds  to-day  its 
chief  support  in  the  traditional  religious  and  metaphysical  sys- 
tems of  thought,  systems  which  we  have  discarded  from  a  scien- 
tific point  of  view,  and  are,  therefore,  bound  to  look  upon  as  reac- 
tionary. The  more  modern  conviction?,  on  the  other  hand, 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW   SOLUTIONS        529 

which  support  the  progressive  ideas,  are  apt  to  assume  a  revo- 
lutionary character.  Everything  calls  for  the  creation  of  a  new 
social  order. 

How,  then,  is  this  to  be  effected  ?  Comte,  true  to  his  convic- 
tion that  all  real  progress  is  bound  up  with  "intellectual  evolu- 
tion," holds  that  science  alone  can  give  us  help.  Science  brings 
all  human  life  under  the  sway  of  positivist  convictions,  makes  it 
understand  itself,  and  yet  links  it  more  closely  than  ever  with  its 
environment.  Before  all  else,  the  isolation  and  mutual  hostility 
of  men  must  be  overcome.  This  can  be  best  effected  by  aid  of 
the  concept  of  organism,  understood  not  in  the  artistic  sense 
with  which  Greek  thought  has  familiarised  us,  but  in  the  sense 
in  which  the  natural  sciences  now  employ  it.  An  organic  com- 
plex is  an  intricate  combination  of  separate  elements,  intimately 
and  inextricably  woven  together,  and,  for  weal  or  woe,  action  or 
inaction,  existing  in  closest  mutual  dependence.  For  this  con- 
cept we  are  indebted  chiefly  to  Biology,  especially  to  the  his- 
tological  branch  of  it;  but  the  highest  form  of  organism  is  human 
society.  For  here  the  individual  is  so  closely  bound  up  with  his 
fellows  that  he  cannot  even  exist  without  them.  There  can  be 
no  development  of  human  life  apart  from  social  intercourse. 
The  condition  of  society  determines  the  character  and  happiness 
of  the  individual.  Even  to  his  dreams  and  desires  he  is  the 
creature  of  his  environment,  his  social  "milieu."  It  remains  for 
Comte  to  take  up  this  thought  of  society  as  an  organism,  and,  by 
the  help  of  modern  science,  work  out  its  meaning  more  precisely 
and  develop  its  implications  more  rigorously.  The  conscious- 
ness of  being  primarily  a  member  of  an  organism  must  become 
more  strong  and  insistent;  it  must  strengthen  the  "altruistic" 
impulses  in  opposition  to  the  egoistic,  which  are  by  no  means 
altogether  objectionable,  though  they  usually  make  themselves 
too  prominent.  Each  one  should  consider  himself  not  a  mere 
private  individual,  but  a  public  official,  and  the  rich  man  should 
feel  himself  to  be  the  "trustee  of  the  common  property."  Mod- 
ern industry,  with  its  "systematic  direction  of  man's  activity  to 
the  external  world,"  is  philosophical  in  tendency;  it  demands 


530  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

a  wider  division  of  labour,  and  in  so  doing  links  men  more 
closely  together  and  strengthens  the  feeling  of  a  universal 
solidarity.  One  of  the  main  problems  of  government  is  to  avoid 
the  dangers  of  a  division  of  labour,  and,  more  especially,  to  see 
that  each  man  is  apportioned  a  position  and  a  function  suited  to 
his  capacities.  If,  however,  social  life  is  to  be  rescued  from  the 
fluctuating  influences  of  the  moment  and  the  selfishness  of  party 
strife,  there  must  be  a  division  into  temporal  and  spiritual  power 
(pouvoir  temporel  et  spirituel),  just  as  there  was  in  the  mediaeval 
Catholic  system,  that  "  political  masterpiece  of  human  wisdom." 
The  spiritual  power  must  have  direct  control  over  education, 
and,  by  focussing  it  on  essentials,  save  it  from  the  changing  cur- 
rents of  political  life;  in  every  other  department  it  must  influ- 
ence only  by  counsel,  by  the  exertion  of  its  moral  authority. 
Comte  pictures  this  spiritual  power  as  making  Paris  the  centre 
of  its  activity,  and  establishing  a  permanent  Council  of  the  Posi- 
tivist  Church,  to  which  all  civilised  nations  shall  send  delegates. 
Evidently,  Positivism  has  become  a  kind  of  religion,  a  new  faith 
(foi  nouvelle],  a  faith  which  replaces  the  idea  of  God  by  the  idea 
of  Humanity.  This  idea  of  Humanity,  however,  is  not  only  the 
centre  of  religion,  but  of  all  ideal  endeavour.  Art,  for  instance, 
is  to  occupy  itself  mainly  with  portraying  the  feelings  which  are 
distinctively  characteristic  of  human  nature,  anticipating  in  vivid 
colouring  the  hoped-for  better  future  of  man,  and  therewith  sat- 
isfying his  idealistic  longings  (besoin  d'idealite).  Again,  the  idea 
of  the  infinite  progress  of  the  species  allows  the  individual  an 
immortality  which  he  could  not  have  as  a  mere  individual,  for  it 
means  that  his  work  is  preserved  and  embodied  in  the  whole. 
The  final  note  is  one  of  joy  and  hope;  as  society  becomes  more 
harmonious,  material  conditions  improve,  and  nature  is  brought 
under  greater  control,  humanity  will  become  increasingly  noble, 
increasingly  worthy  of  veneration. 

Here,  then,  we  have  a  comprehensive  realism,  a  system  ad- 
mirably worked  out  and  thoroughly  distinctive,  even  to  its  ter- 
minology. A  large  part  of  its  influence  it  owes  to  its  determin- 
ateness.  It  is,  above  all,  original  in  its  attempt  to  do  justice  to  all 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        531 

human  ideals  and  bring  about  a  thorough  regeneration  of  social 
conditions  by  the  sole  aid  of  a  right  understanding  of  experi- 
ence. Comte's  best  energies  were  devoted  to  this  task.  But  he 
cannot  be  said  to  have  been  really  successful.  For  a  more  accu- 
rate exaroination  of  his  system  never  fails  to  show  that  in  the 
course  of  his  inquiry  his  main  ideas  develop  into  something  more 
and  other  than  they  were  at  the  outset,  that,  all  unawares,  they 
absorb  just  those  idealistic  ways  of  viewing  and  valuing  things, 
which,  as  a  pernicious  delusion,  were  rigidly  excluded  from  the 
general  plan.  Is  it  consistent  with  a  strictly  realistic  system  to 
raise  humanity,  the  "great  being"  (le  grand  etre),  to  divine 
honour,  or  even  to  go  so  far  as  to  weld  humanity  together  into  an 
organic  whole  which  imposes  exacting  duties  upon  the  indi- 
vidual? Can  this  realism  so  much  as  conceive  any  need  for 
ideality  and  immortality?  We  can  see  again  that  Comte's 
thought  has  been  undergoing  a  readjustment,  we  might  even  say 
a  revolution,  from  the  fact  that  his  description  of  the  pure  actu- 
ality of  human  experience  passes  into  a  drastic  criticism,  an 
actual  attempt  at  reform.  When  we  come  to  the  crucial  point, 
the  transition  from  knowledge  to  action,  realism  no  longer 
trusts  to  its  own  resources;  it  is  only  with  the  help  of  idealism 
that  it  succeeds  in  surmounting  this  difficulty,  and  passing  from 
the  mere  Is  to  an  Ought. 

We  are,  moreover,  bound  to  recognise  a  very  grave  discrep- 
ancy between  the  defects  which  Comte  points  out  and  the  reme- 
dies he  proposes.  He  has  portrayed  the  defects  of  our  modern 
life  with  an  impressiveness  that  carries  conviction,  but  by  way 
of  remedy  he  can  only  propose  that  we  should  clear  up  our  ideas 
and  fall  back  upon  an  organisation  which  is  much  more  old  than 
new;  for  what  he  offers  us  is  nothing  else  than  the  system  of 
mediaeval  Catholicism  without  its  religion,  as  though  it  were  quite 
a  logical  thing  to  accept  the  form,  while  rejecting  the  content. 
Comte  has  discovered  weighty  problems  at  the  very  heart  of  life, 
and  has  thought  to  solve  them  by  mere  changes  of  external  ar- 
rangement. He  affords  a  striking  instance  of  that  tendency,  so  com- 
mon among  the  French,  to  exaggerate  the  power  of  organisation. 


.532  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

Moreover,  Comte's  main  end— the  establishment  of  a  close 
relationship  between  the  methods  of  science  and  of  sociology — 
contains  an  implicit  contradiction,  which  is  really  to  a  large  ex- 
tent responsible  for  that  shifting  of  stand-point  to  which  we  have 
just  drawn  attention.  The  more  loyal  we  are  to  the  methods  of 
natural  science,  the  more  does  our  work  become  merely  descrip- 
tive, a  mere  statement  of  that  which  is  happening  around  us.  On 
the  other  hand,  when  we  come  to  deal  with  society,  we  find  a  very 
imperfect  condition  of  affairs  which  calls  loudly  for  reform;  in 
this  field,  description  cannot  be  the  end,  but  only  the  beginning, 
of  the  work.  A  Positivism  that  desires  to  be  a  reforming  move- 
ment is  a  self-contradiction.  Indeed,  the  contradiction  is  not 
peculiar  to  Positivism.  It  affects  the  whole  science  of  soci- 
ology, in  so  far  at  least  as  sociology  attempts  the  twofold  task  of 
bringing  social  life  under  natural  law  and  at  the  same  time 
improving  it. 

But,  however  much  Comte  may  challenge  criticism,  he  is  yet 
a  great  and  stimulating  thinker.  With  marvellous  energy  he  has 
woven  together  all  the  main  threads  of  realistic  thought,  carried 
its  leading  ideas  into  every  field  of  inquiry.  He  consistently  ap- 
plies one  distinctive  method  to  the  whole  content  of  reality,  and 
shows  unerring  skill  in  the  framing  and  developing  of  his  divi- 
sions. His  system  forms  in  certain  respects  a  realistic  counter- 
part to  Hegel's :  Comte's  influence,  like  Hegel's,  extends  far  be- 
yond the  limits  of  his  own  school;  it  has  affected  the  whole  of  our 
social  life.  There  is  much  in  Comte  which  cannot  fail  to  strike 
us  as  extravagant;  it  is  easy,  too,  to  allow  oneself  to  be  repelled 
by  the  exaggerated  self-consciousness  which  attends  the  exposi- 
tion of  his  doctrines.  But  we  can  reconcile  ourselves  to  this  in 
view  of  the  fervid  desire,  the  passionate  longing  for  truth  and 
happiness  which  breathes  through  all  his  work.  Even  though  it 
involve  the  system  in  grievous  complications  and  at  length  di- 
vert its  founder  from  the  course  he  had  originally  adopted,  yet  it 
forces  us  to  recognise  in  him  a  great  man,  remarkable  despite  all 
his  defects,  a  man  to  whom  nothing  human  seemed  strange  or 
alien. 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        533 

Comte's  theory  of  society  and  the  social  milieu  would  never 
have  obtained  a  hearing  so  quickly  nor  exercised  so  wide  an  in- 
fluence had  it  not  been  accompanied  by  a  more  exact  and  de- 
tailed treatment  of  the  same  problem,  such  as  we  find  for  example 
in  Quetelet*  Quetelet's  investigations  open  our  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  the  individual  does  not  bring  into  society  a  definitely 
marked  character,  but  rather  is  himself  moulded  by  society. 
Through  the  observation  of  a  large  number  of  instances  certain 
average  values  are  detected — a  certain  order  in  the  chaos — and 
even  in  the  phenomena  which  are  usually  accredited  to  chance, 
regularity  is  found  to  prevail.  We  see  how  alike  individuals  are, 
despite  all  apparent  deviations,  how  their  differences  are  confined 
within  a  very  narrow  range.  Everything  points  to  the  need  of 
concentrating  effort  upon  social  matters,  and  thinking  less  of 
influencing  the  mere  individual  than  of  bettering  the  general 
conditions,  though  improvement  of  these  would  indirectly  in- 
volve the  happiness  and  success  of  the  individual.  Thus  mod- 
ern science  supports  Positivism  in  its  tendency  to  make  the  con- 
dition of  society  its  main  concern  and  to  treat  ethics  as  entirely 
social  in  character. 

(&   ENGLISH  POSITIVISM.      MILL  AND  SPENCER 

Even  though  the  plan  of  our  work  forbids  us  to  describe  in 
detail  more  than  one  from  the  group  of  Positivist  thinkers,  we  yet 
must  make  some  brief  mention  of  the  peculiarities  of  English 
Positivism.  It  is  more  firmly  rooted  than  the  French  in  national 
tradition,  and  has  carried  out  its  task  of  developing  a  compre- 
hensive system  of  thought  on  the  sole  basis  of  experience  with  far 
more  quiet  circumspection  and  more  openness  of  mind  toward 
impressions  from  without.  Moreover,  it  has  been  preserved 
from  the  restraints  and  limitations  of  a  hierarchical  system  like 
Comte's  by  that  regard  for  freedom  and  individuality  which, 
from  of  old,  has  characterised  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.t 

John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873)  was  brought  up  in  closest  touch 
with  the  positivistic  tendencies  of  that  later  phase  of  the  En- 

*  See  Appendix  R,  t  See  Appendix  S. 


534 


THE  MODERN  WORLD 


lightenment  proper  to  the  eighteenth  and  the  early  part  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  His  life-work  may  be  described  as  consist- 
ing primarily  in  the  continuation  and  development  of  these  tend- 
encies. His  theory  of  knowledge  and  methodology  do  not  so 
much  contribute  anything  new  in  principle,  as  bring  the  tradi- 
tional empiricism  into  closer  touch  with  the  rapidly  growing  and 
ramifying  progress  of  science.  They  present  an  acute  analysis 
of  the  complicated  processes  of  thought,  and  open  up  a  wealth 
of  new  views  and  suggestions  not  only  in  the  field  of  experimental 
inquiry,  but  also  in  politics  and  economics.  On  the  political  and 
practical  side  he  was  greatly  influenced  by  the  theories  of  men 
such  as  Bentham  and  Adam  Smith,  and  it  was  with  genuine 
enthusiasm  that  he  seized  upon  the  ideas  of  economic  freedom 
and  utilitarianism.  Nor,  in  the  course  of  his  indefatigably  active 
career  did  Mill  ever  formally  break  away  from  this  school.  But 
he  had  that  rare  order  of  mind  which  is  kept  by  its  thirst  for 
truth  in  incessant  activity  and  is  ever  impelled  to  put  itself  into  the 
position  of  its  opponent  and  make  a  constant  study  of  his  prin- 
ciples. In  this  way  it  came  about  that  in  many  respects  he  al- 
tered or  supplemented  his  own  doctrine;  in  fact,  that  in  certain 
important  particulars  he  arrived  without  knowing  it  at  conclu- 
sions directly  opposed  to  the  premises  from  which  he  had  started. 
For  example,  the  very  foundations  of  the  utilitarian  doctrine  are 
shaken  by  the  expansion  of  the  idea  of  utility  to  include  even  the 
striving  after  truth  for  truth's  sake,  as  also  by  the  essential  dis- 
tinction drawn  between  intellectual  and  sensual  pleasure.  A 
warm  sympathy  with  the  actual  living  human  being  makes  Mill 
increasingly  inclined  to  mistrust  any  transmutation  of  economic 
life  into  a  mere  natural  process,  or  any  tendency  to  regard  human 
labour  in  a  commercial  spirit;  it  induces  him  also  to  welcome 
state  intervention  more  and  more.  His  concern  for  freedom 
makes  him  keenly  alive  to  the  dangers  which  threaten  it  from 
the  levelling  influences  of  modern  life  and  the  increased  power 
put  into  the  hands  of  mediocrity,  and  it  drives  him  to  long  earn- 
estly for  more  individual  independence  and  greatness.  "With 
little  men  you  cannot  do  anything  great."  Finally,  a  sympathetic 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        535 

and  unprejudiced  experience  of  human  conditions  and  destinies 
leads  him  further  and  further  from  his  original  optimism,  and 
brings  him  into  closer  touch  with  religious  feelings  and  reflec- 
tions. If  then  Mill  often  fails  to  reach  a  satisfactory  conclusion, 
and  does  not  think  out  his  principles  to  the  finish,  yet  not  only 
does  the  inner  sincerity  of  his  effort  merit  our  most  genuine 
admiration,  but  his  life-work  is  of  great  interest  from  another 
point  of  view :  it  illustrates  the  main  respects  in  which  the  devel- 
oping life  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  driving  men  beyond  the 
position  which  in  the  earlier  half  of  the  century  had  been  held  by 
the  very  people  who  felt,  and  had  a  right  to  feel,  that  they  were  in 
the  vanguard  of  progress. 

When  we  turn  to  Herbert  Spencer  (1820-1903),  we  have, 
despite  many  points  of  likeness,  a  very  different  picture.  In  an 
age  of  incessantly  increasing  differentiation  and  specialisation 
he  displays  the  most  extraordinary  energy  in  bringing  the  whole 
domain  of  knowledge  under  one  dominating  idea  and  thereby 
illumining  it  afresh.  Now  this  idea  is  the  idea  of  evolution,  in 
the  sense  of  the  term  peculiar  to  Spencer.  For  that  only  this 
special  sense  of  the  term  is  new,  and  not  the  idea  of  evolution 
itself,  is  perfectly  patent  to  any  one  who  has  even  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance with  German  Idealism.  Whereas  hitherto  "evolution" 
has  always  been  used  in  a  metaphysical  context,  it  is  now,  quite 
in  accordance  with  realistic  ideas,  based  upon  experience  and 
developed  in  an  original  way  under  the  influence  of  natural 
science.  The  one  universal  fact,  leading  to  a  complete  unification 
of  knowledge,  is  evolution — as  integration  of  matter  and  dissi- 
pation of  motion.  This  alternates  unfailingly  with  a  period  of 
dissolution,  marked  by  absorption  of  motion  and  disintegration 
of  matter.  The  evolutionary  period  is  characterised  by  a  change 
from  homogeneity  to  heterogeneity,  a  progressive  specialisation 
and  differentiation,  beginning  from  the  universe  as  a  whole  and 
proceeding  to  the  heavenly  bodies,  to  human  society,  to  civili- 
sation, to  the  individual.  In  the  period  of  dissolution  the  reverse 
order  is  observed.  Through  all  transformations,  however,  force 
persists  unchanged  under  its  two  forms,  matter  and  motion, 


536  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

though  its  real  nature  remains  wholly  unknowable.  The  intro- 
duction of  these  main  ideas  into  the  various  departments  of 
thought  yields  much  that  is  new  and  suggestive;  but  all  our 
appreciation  of  Spencer's  logical  industry  cannot  blind  us  to  the 
fact  that  he  is  presenting  his  subject-matter  in  schematic  form 
rather  than  casting  fresh  light  on  it,  and  that,  throughout,  the 
content  of  reality  receives  from  him  a  much  too  summary  treat- 
ment. The  generalisations  in  which  he  indulges  have  the  effect  of 
changing  the  world  into  a  realm  of  pale  shadows  and  phantoms. 
In  the  practital  field  he  shows  more  life  and  vigour;  he  is  indeed 
the  most  uncompromising  champion  of  complete  individual 
freedom.  How  to  reconcile  this  with  the  idea  of  an  evolution 
conforming  to  natural  law  is  not  quite  easy  to  see.  But  whatever 
our  attitude  may  be  toward  Spencer's  method  and  results,  the 
fact  remains  that  he  has  reinterpreted  the  whole  realm  of 
knowledge  in  the  light  of  certain  convictions  of  his  own,  and, 
by  this  construction  of  a  completely  comprehensive  system,  has 
won  a  unique  place  among  English  philosophers. 

(b)  Modern  Science  and  the  Theory  of  Evolution 

The  main  features  characteristic  of  our  modern  science  were 
already  familiar  to  the  seventeenth  century;  the  nineteenth 
century  has  only  to  fill-in  the  sketch  which  was  then  so  boldly 
outlined.  Such  a  mere  outline,  however,  was  too  abstract  to 
allow  of  the  scientific  view  of  the  world  becoming  part  of  the 
general  scheme  of  life.  In  particular,  the  Golden  Age  of  Ger- 
man poetry  and  speculation  was  so  full  of  the  dignity  of  man 
and  so  exclusively  occupied  with  fostering  it,  that  nature  came 
to  be  regarded  merely  as  a  background.  Take,  for  instance,  a 
system  like  Hegel's,  which  treats  spiritual  life  and  man's  spiritual 
life  as  interchangeable  equivalents,  and  maintains  that  the  Abso- 
lute Spirit  realises  itself  in  human  history;  would  such  a  system 
be  conceivable  save  from  a  geocentric  stand-point?  Now  the 
advance  of  Realism  changes  all  this.  Natural  science,  from 
being  one  particular  province,  becomes  co-extensive  with  the 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        537 

whole  realm  of  thought.  All  the  changes  which  the  work  of 
previous  centuries  have  effected  in  our  conception  of  the  visible 
world  at  last  become  fully  operative  upon  the  convictions  of 
mankind.  And  the  changes  were  many :  far-reaching  modifica- 
tions had  taken  place  in  that  older  outlook  which  had  seemed  so 
convincing  to  medievalism  and  even  to  the  Reformation,  which 
had  become  so  closely  interwoven,  too,  with  religious  ideas. 
Even  the  change  in  our  way  of  regarding  the  external  world 
reaches  much  further  than  we  are  wont  to  admit.  While  the 
earth  was  still  regarded  as  the  centre  of  a  finite  universe  and  the 
action  of  man  could  determine  the  fate  of  the  whole,  his  signifi- 
cance and  the  significance  of  humanity  in  general  was  bound  to 
be  incomparably  greater  than  when  he  became  merely  the  inhabi- 
tant of  an  apparently  not  very  considerable  fixed  star  in  the 
measureless  tracts  of  space,  and  when,  consequently,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  universe,  the  whole  sphere  of  his  life  dwindles 
to  a  tiny  point.  There  is,  however,  just  as  much  change  in  the 
inward  as  in  the  outward  view  of  nature.  Once  she  had  seemed 
to  be  filled  and  even  dominated  by  quasi-psychical  forces,  and 
human  life  had  moved  within  a  sphere  that  was  inwardly  akin 
to  itself,  enjoying  friendly  intercourse  with  its  environment;  but 
now  the  new  knowledge  has  robbed  her  of  her  soul,  thereby 
alienating  her  from  man.  At  first,  it  is  true,  the  dualistic  way  of 
thinking  that  had  been  characteristic  of  the  Enlightenment  made 
it  possible  to  mark  off  a  separate  sphere,  wherein  the  inward  life 
might  develop  freely,  but  as  the  mighty  kingdom  of  nature  devel- 
oped more  and  more  and  drew  man  to  itself  by  myriad  threads 
of  connection,  this  sphere  was  constantly  encroached  on,  till  at 
last  its  very  existence  was  threatened.  More  and  more  irresist- 
ibly was  man  assimilated  to  nature,  more  rigorously  subjected 
to  her  laws;  more  inevitably  was  his  soul  transformed  into  a  mere 
aggregate  of  mental  processes,  into  a  mere  helpless  part  of  the 
world-machinery. 

This  change  in  the  relation  of  man  to  his  environment  has  been 
brought  about  mainly  by  the  idea  of  evolution.  This  idea  has 
had  a  curious  history.  It  is  quite  foreign  to  the  main  tendencies 


538  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

of  classical  antiquity,  whose  artistic  creed  demands  that  the  fun- 
damental constitution  of  the  world,  and  in  particular  its  organic 
forms,  should  be  unchangeable.  All  the  changes  we  experience 
are  here  attributed  to  a  rhythmic  movement  in  the  life  of  the  uni- 
verse, which,  in  continual  ebb  and  flow,  is  ever  returning  to  its 
starting-point.  Christianity,  with  its  assertion  of  the  uniqueness 
of  the  world's  history,  was  bound  to  reject  the  idea  of  periodicity 
and  the  endless  repetition  of  worlds.  In  the  place  of  this  concep- 
tion, religious  thought  elaborated  a  doctrine  of  development 
which  regarded  the  whole  world  with  all  its  multiplicity  as  the 
unfolding,  the  "unwrapping"  of  the  divine  Unity,  as  the  tem- 
poral manifestation  of  eternal  Being.  Following  upon  this 
religious  doctrine  of  development  there  came,  with  the  modern 
tendency  toward  pantheism,  an  artistic  doctrine,  which  repre- 
sents the  universe  as  a  whole,  growing  from  within  outward  and 
attaining  ever  to  more  perfect  self-expression.  This  is  the  view 
of  Schelling  and  Goethe.  Both  doctrines  gave  the  visible  world 
an  invisible  setting.  The  world,  far  from  sustaining  its  own 
development,  was  merely  the  arena  in  which  forces  of  a  deeper 
order  came  into  play. 

Now  our  modern  science  with  its  exact  methods  has  entirely 
reversed  all  this.  What  is  produced  within  experience  is  con- 
ceived as  the  product  of  forces  which  are  themselves  active  within 
experience.  Being  is  explained  by  Becoming,  by  its  historical 
genesis;  the  advance  of  the  world  is  held  to  be  due  not  to  the 
action  of  any  transcendent,  external  Power,  but  solely  to  the 
clash  of  elemental  forces.  Such  a  conception  places  the  doctrine 
of  evolution  in  direct  opposition  to  all  explanations  which  pro- 
ceed on  the  assumption  of  an  unseen  and  supernatural  order. 

In  the  very  first  sketch  of  a  scientific  cosmology — that  given 
by  Descartes — we  are  introduced  to  the  idea  of  a  gradual  build- 
ing up  of  the  world  from  very  simple  beginnings  by  the  forces 
inherent  in  nature  herself,  an  idea  developed  later  along  sounder 
lines  by  Kant  and  Laplace.  Modern  Psychology  from  Locke 
onward  had  strenuously  sought  to  understand  the  psychical  life 
of  the  individual  as  a  gradual  growth  and  progress  from  small 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        539 

beginnings.  Nor  was  there  in  the  eighteenth  century  any  dearth 
of  attempts  to  view  the  historical  status  of  man  in  the  light  of  its 
own  development,  without  passing  beyond  the  limits  of  experi- 
ence or  having  recourse  to  any  religious  or  metaphysical  assump- 
tions. But,  until  well  into  the  nineteenth  century,  this  attempt 
to  apply  the  genetic  method  consistently  was  checked  by  one 
serious  obstacle,  the  apparently  unchangeable  and  underivable 
character  of  organic  species.  An  impassable  limit  seemed  here 
to  be  set  to  a  strictly  scientific  explanation  of  reality.  Anthro- 
pomorphic ideas  and  love  of  the  marvellous  could  always  retreat 
upon  this  ground  and  find  there  a  safe  asylum.  Thus  when  men 
like  Lamarck  and  Darwin  extended  the  method  to  organic 
species,  it  affected  profoundly  the  whole  conception  of  the  uni- 
verse. Darwin,  who  carried  the  matter  to  a  victorious  issue, 
brings  together,  as  is  wrell  known,  two  main  ideas:  on  the  one 
hand,  there  is  the  more  general  assertion  of  a  gradual  develop- 
ment of  organic  life  from  certain  primitive  types,  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  historical  explanation  into  the  realm  of  organic  nature, 
in  short,  the  doctrine  of  descent;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
is  the  more  detailed  specification  of  the  ways  and  means  of 
development,  the  theory  of  natural  selection,  namely,  involving 
the  ceaseless  conflict  of  all  created  forms  in  the  struggle  for 
existence,  the  survival  of  the  fittest  through  the  persistence  and 
accumulation  of  such  variations  as  favour  survival,  and  the  ex- 
planation of  highly  purposive  forms  without  reference  to  any 
conception  of  purpose.  This  more  detailed  exposition  makes  the 
general  idea  of  a  gradual  evolution  far  more  vivid  and  convincing. 
We  are  not  concerned  here  with  the  theory  in  its  scientific 
aspect,  but  merely  as  it  affects  our  attitude  toward  life.  From 
this  point  of  view  it  is  of  paramount  importance  to  keep  the  two 
stages  of  the  doctrine  clearly  distinct.  It  is  mainly  the  theorv 
of  natural  selection  that  has  ventured  to  come  fonvard  with  a 
new  and  original  view  of  life.  By  completely  assimilating  man 
to  nature,  it  leaves  the  shaping  of  man's  life  with  the  forces 
which  appear  to  control  the  formation  of  natural  types.  Life  is 
thereby  robbed  of  all  that  had  given  it  inner  worth  and  dignity,: 


540  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

the  form  which  it  takes  is  determined  solely  by  circumstance  and 
is  maintained  only  in  so  far  as  it  proves  serviceable  in  the  struggle 
for  existence.  Advance  is  only  made  when  properties  which 
chance  has  brought  together  are  maintained  on  account  of  their 
usefulness,  inherited,  and  in  the  course  of  time  wrought  into  the 
species.  But  since  there  can  be  no  inward  appropriation  of  this 
gain,  there  can  also  be  no  joy  in  the  good  and  the  beautiful  for 
their  own  sake;  all  we  win  is  simply  an  added  means  of  self- 
preservation.  We  have  already  seen  in  Adam  Smith  the  effect 
of  a  doctrine  of  mere  utility  in  lowering  the  status  of  the  inward 
life,  and  here  we  see  it  in  its  extreme  form.  The  inward  life  loses 
all  independent  value.  The  only  right  is  the  right  of  the  stronger ; 
all  humaneness,  in  particular  all  care  for  the  weak  and  suffering, 
would  simply  take  the  heart  out  of  the  struggle,  and  therefore  be 
a  piece  of  pernicious  folly.  If  in  this  blind  medley  of  conflicting 
forces  there  be  anything  at  all  left  for  us  to  do,  it  can  only  be  to 
make  the  struggle  for  existence  as  hard,  persistent  and  ruthless 
as  we  can,  so  that  all  the  unfit  may  be  weeded  out  and  the  process 
of  selection  be  made  as  speedy  as  possible. 

All  this,  indeed,  only  ensues  when  we  think  the  theory  out  to 
its  logical  conclusion,  as  its  supporters  rarely  do.  For,  all  un- 
seen, persuasions  of  another  sort  steal  in  and  cause  them  to  re- 
gard this  inward  revolution  quite  differently,  to  look  upon  it  as 
an  emancipation  from  a  stifling  narrowness  of  view,  to  welcome 
it  as  ennobling  human  life.  All  unawares,  these  new  ideas  are 
transplanted  into  an  atmosphere  which  has  been  saturated, 
through  the  efforts  of  centuries  past,  with  spiritual  values,  and 
they  absorb  from  this  atmosphere  just  what  suits  them.  Only 
through  being  supplemented  in  this  way  do  they  succeed  in 
yielding  even  a  tolerable  presentation  of  life  and  in  blinding  us  to 
the  fact  that  it  cannot  be  other  than  absolutely  senseless,  if  it  be 
fashioned  as  they  suggest.  For  all  the  toil  and  struggle,  the  la- 
bour of  centuries,  the  growth  of  civilisation,  could  not  hope  to 
make  the  inward  man  one  whit  better,  or  extend  in  any  way  the 
borders  of  reason.  All  effort  would  be  concentrated  on  produc- 
ing ever  stronger  individuals,  creatures  better  adapted  to  the 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        541 

struggle  for  existence.  But  who  is  to  profit  by  this  existence, 
that  causes  so  much  trouble  and  claims  such  sacrifice  of  life? 
No  one  gains  by  it,  neither  the  survivor  nor  any  one  else.  Noth- 
ing is  won  despite  all  the  effort,  save  what  was  given  already  at 
the  outset  in  a  far  more  convenient  form.  This  refusal  to  see  in 
the  theory  of  natural  selection  the  master-key  to  the  problem  of 
life  in  no  wise  robs  it  of  all  importance.  It  still  remains  true  that 
it  was  the  first  effective  means  of  bringing  home  to  men  the  in- 
fluence of  environment  in  moulding  the  inward  life,  and  the 
cumulative  effects  of  small  changes  operating  during  long  peri- 
ods of  time.  But  all  this  needs  to  be  put  into  a  larger  setting,  if 
it  is  to  serve  truth  and  not  error. 

In  natural  science,  at  the  present  day,  the  theory  of  natural 
selection  is  being  confined  within  ever  narrower  limits,  so  that  it 
can  hardly  claim  to  supply  a  guiding  principle  for  the  whole  of 
life.  But  it  is  very  different  with  the  more  general  idea  of  the 
theory  of  descent.  Since  this  is  establishing  itself  more  and 
more  firmly  in  the  domain  of  science,  the  general  philosophy  of 
life  is  bound  to  come  to  terms  with  it,  no  less  than  it  did  with 
Copernicus,  and,  in  so  doing,  to  be  considerably  influenced  by  it. 
The  extension  of  the  historical  method  to  the  treatment  of  organic 
forms  not  only  makes  change  the  law  of  the  whole  universe;  it 
also  draws  man  nearer,  knits  him  more  closely,  to  nature.  For 
the  genetic  explanation  cannot  possibly  apply  to  the  whole  of 
nature  and  then  suddenly  break  down  at  man.  But  to  admit 
this  does  not  compel  us  to  accept  a  doctrine  of  fickle  relativity 
or  a  naturalism  that  is  a  foe  to  spiritual  life.  For  if  the  organic 
species  are  developed  gradually,  they  cannot  be  the  mere  casual 
result  of  a  chance  collision  of  the  elements;  their  formation  may 
involve  timeless  conformity  to  law.  That  which  now  appears  at 
one  particular  point  may,  nay,  must  have  teen  potentially  pres- 
ent in  the  system  as  a  whole.  It  is  not  movement  in  itself  that  is 
destructive,  but  only  movement  that  is  controlled  by  no  inward 
law.  The  recognition  of  a  movement  in  which  fixed  laws  prevail 
does  not  lower  our  conception  of  nature,  but  gives  it  greater  dig- 
nity; it  does  not  indeed  solve  the  problem  of  origins,  but  it  dis- 


542  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

tributes  it  over  a  wider  area  and  takes  away  its  magical  charac- 
ter. Moreover,  the  closer  approximation  of  man  to  nature  may 
have  diametrically  opposite  results  according  to  the  meaning 
which  we  give  to  his  life.  If  there  be  nothing  essentially  new  in 
it,  if  its  inward  forces  do  not  lift  it  above  the  level  of  nature,  then 
the  forging  of  that  closer  connection  must  end  in  naturalising  it 
completely.  On  the  other  hand,  if  in  man  we  recognise  a  new 
stage  of  reality,  an  independent  spiritual  life,  then  his  closer 
connection  with  nature  can  only  have  the  effect  of  lifting  nature, 
giving  her  a  deeper  basis,  making  her  part  of  a  larger  system. 
In  this  case,  man  is  not  lowered  through  nature,  but  nature  is 
lifted  through  man.  So,  generally,  it  is  not  natural  science  that 
leads  us  into  naturalism,  but  the  weakness  of  our  spiritual  con- 
victions, the  suspicion  that  there  is  perhaps  no  spiritual  exist- 
ence at  all :  this  it  is  that  enables  a  popular  philosophy  to  twist 
natural  science  into  a  materialistic  naturalism.  Here,  as  else- 
where, our  final  verdict  does  not  depend  upon  individual  facts, 
but  on  the  systems  into  which  they  have  been  woven,  the  char- 
acter of  the  whole  life  to  which  they  are  adjusted,  the  nature  of 
the  inward  process  which  informs  outward  experience  and  gives 
it  its  significance.* 

(c)  Modern  Sociology.    Social  Democracy  and  Its  View  of  Lije 

We  must  beware  of  identifying  modern  sociology  and  the 
social  democratic  movement.  Still  it  was  undoubtedly  the  in- 
creased influence  of  social  life  over  the  work  and  the  valuations  of 
the  nineteenth  and  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  that 
paved  the  way  for  the  efforts  of  Radicalism  to  set  up  a  new  social 
order,  and  put  the  Radical  movement  upon  a  broader  founda- 
tion. A  continually  increasing  number  of  people  were  grounding 
their  whole  philosophy  of  life  on  the  basis  of  the  social  conditions 
which  they  either  found  already  about  them  or  themselves 
sought  to  establish.  There  was  Adam  Smith,  for  instance,  and 
again  Bentham's  (1748-1830)  utilitarian  movement,  which 
made  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number  its  dominat- 

•  See  Appendix  T. 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        543 

ing  principle,  and  judged  of  all  action  by  the  way  in  which  it 
served  this  end,  that  is  to  say,  by  its  outward  effect  and  not  by 
its  inward  quality.  Open  to  attack  as  this  fundamental  idea 
undoubtedly  is,  Utilitarianism  has  yet  done  good  service.  It 
broke  up  old  and  out-worn  systems,  won  more  freedom  of  move- 
ment for  the  individual,  and  introduced  more  charity  and  toler- 
ance into  social  and  international  relations.  But  though  these 
early  social  reformers  found  much  in  the  traditional  ordering  of 
society  that  called  for  criticism  and  change,  yet  they  never 
dreamt  of  interfering  with  its  fundamental  structure.  It  seemed 
to  them  that  a  close,  faithful  adhesion  to  natural  forces  and  in- 
stincts would  inevitably  result  in  the  victory  of  reason.  It  was 
not  necessary,  they  thought,  to  found  a  new  order,  but  simply  to 
remove  the  obstructive  elements  of  the  old.  At  the  same  time, 
they  looked  upon  the  middle  classes  as  the  chosen  representa- 
tives of  the  collective  social  interest.  In  all  these  respects  the 
nineteenth  century  effects  a  profound  and  far-reaching  change. 
Louder  and  louder  becomes  the  demand  for  a  completely  new 
order  of  society,  such  as  cannot  proceed  from  a  gradual  reform, 
but  only  from  revolution  of  a  drastic  kind.  The  movement 
passes  from  a  stage  of  chaos  and  confusion,  such  as  is  revealed 
in  the  doctrines  of  Saint-Simon,  to  a  perfectly  elaborated  system 
such  as  we  find  more  particularly  in  the  German  Social  Democ- 
racy. It  is  then  only  this  latter  movement  that  need  concern 
us  here. 

Socialism — we  are  thinking  more  especially  of  the  meaning 
given  to  it  by  Marx — is  particularly  zealous  in  its  championship 
of  the  conviction  which  ever  since  Adam  Smith's  day  has  been 
gradually  permeating  modern  life:  the  conviction,  namely,  that 
the  whole  character  of  life  is  determined  by  economic  relations, 
by  the  way  in  which  wealth  is  acquired  and  distributed,  and  that 
whether  our  existence  shall  be  rational  or  otherwise  depends  on 
the  way  in  which  this  problem  is  solved.  We  are  given  a  scien- 
tific formulation  of  the  socialist  doctrine  in  a  materialistic,  or 
rather  economic,  philosophy  of  history.  Here  the  economic 
struggle  is  regarded  as  the  one.  propelling  force  of  history.  Even 


544  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

religious  systems,  such  as  Christianity,  or  revolutionary  move- 
ments like  the  Reformation,  did  not  originate  in  any  longing  for 
spiritual  things,  but  in  the  desire  of  the  down-trodden  masses  for 
improved  conditions  of  life.  The  ideas  were  merely  tools,  or 
reflexes,  of  economic  changes.  On  this  view,  the  supreme  goal 
is  the  improvement  of  economic  conditions,  and  the  whole  worth 
of  life  varies  according  as  these  conditions  are  reasonable  or  the 
reverse. 

In  one  important  point,  however,  Social  Democracy  effects  a 
complete  break  with  the  older  realism:  it  transforms  the  crass 
optimism  which  had  characterised  the  older  movement  into  an 
equally  crass  pessimism.  Adam  Smith  fully  expected  that  the 
complete  emancipation  of  the  individual  and  perfect  freedom  of 
industrial  competition  would  have  the  happiest  effect  on  the 
constitution  of  social  life.  What  he  saw  in  the  struggle  was 
mainly  the  greater  freedom  and  power  of  the  individual;  the 
movement  as  a  whole  he  viewed  as  a  steady  progress  to  higher 
and  yet  higher  levels.  The  more  detailed  description  of  economic 
life  was  likewise  full  of  optimistic  assumptions.  It  never  occurred 
to  any  one  that  the  transformation  of  existence  into  a  mere  com- 
plex of  natural  forces  would  act  prejudicially  upon  the  inward 
life. 

The  revulsion  from  this  point  of  view  was  mainly  due  to  the 
radical  changes  which  had  taken  place  in  economic  life  during 
the  nineteenth  century.  It  is  no  longer  so  simple  and  innocent 
as  it  was.  Work  stands  at  the  mercy  of  the  machine  and  the 
wholesale  producer.  The  annihilation  of  distance  facilitates  the 
speed  with  which  movements  in  different  places  affect  each  other, 
and  thus  renders  the  economic  struggle  visibly  more  acute.  The 
tool,  and  with  it  the  nature  of  the  work,  is  always  being  altered. 
Gigantic  combinations  of  capital  and  labour  have  arisen.  Thus 
we  are  landed  in  the  most  grievous  complications;  opposing 
forces  meet  and  clash  with  superhuman  force  and  passion. 

But  great  as  these  changes  are,  they  would  never  have  been  so 
violent  in  their  effect  had  they  not  been  taken  up  into  more 
inward  movements  and  borne  forward  on  their  stream.  Since 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        545 

Adam  Smith's  day,  the  subject  had  grown  in  importance,  the 
subject,  too,  of  immediate  experience,  man  in  his  actual  feelings 
and  enjoyments.  This  subject  becomes  more  keenly  interested 
in  relating  his  experiences  to  his  own  welfare  and  computing  his 
share  of  happiness  and  enjoyment.  Moreover,  it  is  not  a  few 
favoured  classes  that  make  their  voice  heard,  but  the  great 
mass  of  the  people.  Thus  general  dissatisfaction  prevails  and 
a  tendency  to  view  the  existing  situation  in  the  gloomiest  light. 
There  is  a  disposition  to  dwell  upon  abuses;  if  anything  un- 
pleasant is  discovered,  it  is  at  once  generalised  and  painted  in 
most  lurid  colours.  The  whole  picture  is  conceived  in  the 
gloomiest  vein. 

At  the  same  time  the  difficulties  are  intensified  by  the  tend- 
ency to  treat  all  questions  as  universal,  as  matters  of  principle, 
a  tendency  quite  in  accordance  with  the  whole  trend  of  the 
modern  period,  and  more  especially  associated  in  the  nineteenth 
century  with  Hegel.  For  those  who  think  in  this  way,  all  ques- 
tions merge  in  one  large  question,  and  work  thereby  with  vastly 
increased  power.  The  very  expression  "social  question"  at 
once  stamps  the  whole  existing  order  as  problematic.  These 
gigantic  combinations  of  thought  exert  an  independent  power 
and  authority  before  which  anything  that  can  be  done  by  indi- 
vidual resource  and  good-will  vanishes  into  nothingness.  They 
push  their  logical  development  to  its  extremest  issue;  they  carry 
their  point  and  none  can  gainsay  them.  Capital  and  labour  here 
stand  out  as  two  most  deadly  foes.  Capital — meaning  chiefly 
capital  in  money — shows  an  ineradicable  tendency  to  grow  in 
power  and  importance  and  degrade  labour  more  and  more  to  a 
condition  of  slavery.  What  gives  added  bitterness  and  passion 
to  the  conflict  is  the  assertion  that  the  capital  has  not  been  hon- 
estly earned,  but  is  stolen  from  the  worker. 

To  abolish  capital  and  make  labour  supreme  would,  it  is  held, 
introduce  a  change  which  would  be  entirely  for  the  better,  and 
wholly  revolutionise  the  existing  order.  Such  a  change  is  con- 
fidently expected  on  the  ground  that  historical  development 
follows  the  dialectical  method.  According  to  Marx,  the"capi- 


546  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

talist  phase"  is  "the  first  negation  of  the  individual,  of  private 
property  acquired  by  personal  labour."  This  negation  will  be 
itself  negated  through  the  inward  development  of  the  dialectical 
movement,  and  through  transcendence  of  the  oppositions  a 
higher  stage  will  be  reached. 

If  pessimism  was  the  prevailing  note  in  descriptions  of  the 
existing  order,  this  higher  stage  is  portrayed  with  a  correspond- 
ing optimism,  as  delightful  as  the  pessimism  was  gloomy.  The 
installation  of  work  in  its  true  position,  the  regulation  of  all 
social  relations  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  whole,  the  impartial 
providing  for  all  individuals  alike,  will,  it  is  thought,  give  com- 
plete happiness  and  satisfy  even  ideal  needs.  Society  is  now 
regarded  as  an  organic  system,  the  source  of  ethical  energy.  So 
long  as  it  remains  democratic,  it  is  thought  that  it  may  safely 
increase  in  power  without  in  any  way  imperilling  individual 
freedom.  Often — especially  in  Lassalle — there  is  an  idealising 
of  the  people,  a  disposition  to  think  more  highly  of  the  man 
whose  lot  is  cast  in  a  lowly  station.  Rousseauism  revives.  Man 
is  at  heart  good  and  unspoilable.  Bad  social  arrangements  are 
responsible  for  all  the  evil.  If  we  allow  all  individuals  to  develop 
their  powers  freely,  we  shall  insure  the  victory  of  reason.  The 
general  level  of  life  will  be  infinitely  higher,  and  we  shall  have 
better,  happier,  "all-round"  men,  a  loftier  ideal  of  education, 
family  life,  and  so  on.  In  short,  the  old  Utopian  dreams  revive 
amid  all  the  realism  of  the  age.  Naturally,  there  is  the  less 
room  for  religion.  It  is  apt  to  be  summarily  rejected  as  a  mere 
invention  in  the  interests  of  the  privileged  classes,  and  complete 
misunderstanding  prevails  as  to  its  true  nature  and  historical 
working. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  present  task  to  discuss  the  technical  aspect 
of  this  doctrine.  Taken  as  a  whole,  it  is  a  movement  which  we 
cannot  afford  to  treat  lightly,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  it  sets  in 
a  clear  though  prejudiced  light  the  far-reaching  changes  which 
labour  has  undergone  and  the  exceedingly  complicated  character 
of  the  economic  struggle.  At  the  same  time  it  raises  important 


THE   SEARCH   FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        547 

problems,  which  we  cannot  easily  forget  now  that  they  have 
been  so  ably  put  and  have  become  so  wrought  into  the  general 
consciousness.  It  is  not  easy  to  overlook  the  request  for  a  wider 
diffusion  of  mental  and  spiritual  culture,  for  a  larger  individual 
share  in  the  collective  profits  of  the  community.  He  who  cannot 
detect  in  it  a  note  of  idealistic  aspiration,  he  who  never  feels  it 
to  be  a  crying  pity  that  only  so  few  should  be  given  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  full  development  of  their  spiritual  powers,  will  never 
be  able  to  appreciate  this  movement  at  its  true  worth.  It  is  a 
movement  which,  in  many  respects,  is  only  the  extreme  expres- 
sion of  tendencies  which  characterise  the  whole  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  The  whole  period  is  influenced  by  this  firm  belief  in 
the  omnipotence  of  political  and  social  arrangements.  The 
state  of  society  has  become  the  all-important  problem.  Every 
one  thinks  that  if  only  the  programme  of  his  particular  party  is 
strictly  carried  out,  mankind  will  become  perfectly  happy  and 
virtuous.  There  is  not  nearly  so  much  scope  as  formerly  for  the 
free  play  of  the  individual.  The  concern  for  a  freedom  within 
the  state  is  so  great  as  to  make  men  almost  forget  that  there  is  a 
freedom  which  can  assert  itself  against  the  state.  Moreover, 
with  the  progress  of  a  highly  complex  civilisation,  material  goods 
have  increased  in  importance  and  value.  Socialism  seizes  on 
these  tendencies,  brings  them  to  a  point,  and  aggressively  uses 
them  for  the  furthering  of  its  own  cause.  In  virtue  of  the  unify- 
ing work  it  accomplishes,  and  the  appeal  it  makes  to  the 
whole  man,  it  wields  an  authority  which  the  ordinary  vacillating 
temper  that  is  driven  helplessly  this  way  and  that  can  never  hope 
to  obtain. 

With  the  socialist  solution  we  must  indeed  join  issue.  From 
the  philosophical  point  of  view  it  merits  the  sharpest  criticism. 
All  thought  and  all  effort  are  made  to  serve  the  one  end  of 
satisfying  the  loud  demand  of  the  masses  for  a  larger  share  of 
power  and  happiness,  and  the  scope  of  human  experience  is  thus 
unduly  narrowed.  Socialism,  by  eagerly  seizing  and  using  every- 
thing that  promises  to  further  its  main  end,  takes  up  and  masses 
together  quite  uncritically  the  most  diverse  and  even  contra- 


548  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

dictory  systems.  Materialism  and  sensualism  of  the  shallowest 
kind  find  favour  because  they  seem  to  be  most  thoroughly  sub- 
versive of  the  traditional  religion,  and  yet  these  movements  in 
themselves,  being  products  of  an  over-ripe  civilisation,  are  cer- 
tainly not  adapted  to  the  task  of  fostering  enthusiasm  for  new 
ideals.  Rousseau  is  valued  because  he  has  glorified  the  people 
and  proclaimed  the  rights  of  man,  but  the  romantic,  sentimental 
feeling  which  prompted  his  effusion  is  now  remote  indeed. 
Hegel  again  finds  recognition  in  so  far  as  Socialism  seems  to 
gather  assurance  of  victory  from  his  doctrine  of  history  as  a 
dialectical  movement  advancing  through  one  opposition  to  an- 
other. That  this  conviction  implies  a  transformation  of  the 
world  into  a  process  of  thought,  and  so  into  an  inner  life,  is  hardly 
so  much  as  suspected. 

This  confusion  of  naturally  antagonistic  systems  is  sufficient 
to  show  that  Socialism  never  goes  deep  enough,  and  it  fails  to  do 
so  simply  because  it  forms  a  wrong  conception  of  the  main  prob- 
lem of  human  life.  This  problem,  as  Socialism  conceives  it,  is 
how  best  to  order  social  relations,  and  particularly  how  to  dis- 
tribute economic  wealth.  If  these  relations  be  revolutionised, 
then  it  is  expected  that  existence  generally  will  become  reason- 
able and  happy,  and  human  life  attain  an  ideal  form.  An  expec- 
tation of  this  kind,  however,  implies  certain  peculiar  convictions 
concerning  the  life  and  happiness  of  man,  which  run  directly 
counter  to  the  experience  of  history. 

If  a  particular  kind  of  social  environment  is  to  make  man  com- 
pletely virtuous,  then  there  must  be  no  spiritual  complexities  in 
his  nature.  If  the  new  order  is  to  satisfy  completely  all  his  wishes, 
then  these  must  limit  themselves  to  restricted  hours  of  work  and 
emancipation  from  the  cares  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  Now  with- 
out subscribing  to  any  doctrine  of  a  Fall  and  the  corrupt  nature 
of  man,  we  can  yet  see  that  his  being  is  involved  in  a  serious, 
spiritual  complexity.  Man  transcends  nature  once  and  for  all, 
and  begins  to  rise  toward  the  higher  plane  of  the  spiritual  life, 
i.  e.,  an  inner  life  that  has  its  world  within  itself.  This  new  life 
makes  new  claims  upon  his  feeling.  It  demands  work,  surren- 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        549 

der,  even  sacrifice,  for  ends  outside  the  sphere  of  his  individual 
interest.  But  on  the  other  hand,  the  increased  intelligence  and 
power  which  accompany  this  transition  intensify  the  natural 
instinct  of  self-preservation  till  it  becomes  an  unrestrained,  de- 
structive egoism,  a  boundless  lust  for  possession,  enjoyment  and 
dominion.  Thus  opposing  forces  keep  us  in  constant  tension: 
fateful  decisions  are  forced  upon  us.  A  moral  opposition  per- 
vades and  dominates  the  whole  of  our  lives,  not,  perhaps,  in  the 
form  depicted  by  theological  dogmas  and  philosophical  specu- 
lations, but  revealed  to  us  none  the  less  in  our  most  inward  and 
intimate  experiences.  Anything  that  tends  to  obscure  or  weaken 
this  opposition  lowers  and  relaxes  our  inmost  nature,  however 
stirring  and  stimulating  its  outward  effects  may  be.  It  is  very 
apt  to  produce  a  result  exactly  opposite  to  that  which  it  in- 
tended, since  it  diverts  the  attention  and  industry  from  the  very 
point  where  they  are  most  particularly  needed.  Even  from 
remotest  times  there  have  been  theorists  who  expected  a  com- 
plete social  regeneration  to  ensue  from  the  abolition  or  restric- 
tion of  the  divisions  between  classes.  More  than  two  thousand 
years  ago  Aristotle  met  them  with  the  objection  that  the  com- 
plication goes  deeper  than  they  think,  that  the  worst  crimes  are 
not  the  result  of  need,  but  of  wantonness  and  a  "greed  for 
more,"  and  that  even  though  a  new  social  regime  might  remove 
or  remedy  certain  defects,  it  would  be  sure  to  introduce  or 
strengthen  others. 

And  if  morality  cannot  be  treated  as  a  mere  corollary  to  the 
social  problem,  no  more  can  the  problem  of  happiness  be  solved 
by  the  freedom  we  are  promised  from  material  cares  and  wor- 
ries. As  certainly  as  man  is  a  spiritual  being,  and  just  in  pro- 
portion as  he  is  spiritual,  that  goal  can  never  suffice  him.  All  the 
material  comfort  would  only  mean  emptiness  of  soul.  As  a 
spiritual  being,  he  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  a  life  devoid  of 
content,  and  such  content  he  can  only  find  by  going  back  upon 
his  fundamental  relation  to  reality,  making  the  world  his  own 
by  an  act  of  spiritual  appropriation,  grounding  his  life  and  his 
whole  being  in  a  realm  of  truth  and  love.  But  in  doing  this,  he 


550  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

gives  the  primary  place  to  those  very  problems  which  the  social- 
istic view  of  life  regards  as  secondary. 

We  thus  find  ourselves  unable  to  accept  what  is  most  charac- 
teristic in  Socialism.  But  we  must  not  fail  to  recognise  that  there 
is  much  more  in  the  movement  than  can  be  confined  within  this 
narrow  framework.  Side  by  side  with  the  ordinary  craving  for 
happiness,  there  is  a  longing  for  a  higher  development  of  man 
as  man,  for  an  ennoblement  of  human  existence.  That  which 
gives  real  power  to  the  whole  movement,  quite  independently  of 
any  particular  party-doctrine,  is  the  desire  which  to-day  is  per- 
meating human  life  more  and  more,  the  desire  of  the  masses  for 
a  larger  share  of  happiness  and  of  goods  not  merely  temporal, 
but  also  spiritual.  The  path  this  desire  will  take  depends  largely 
on  the  answer  to  another  question.  Will  humanity,  in  all  the 
commotions  and  upheavals  of  the  age,  find  the  strength  which  is 
requisite  for  spiritual  concentration  and  a  regeneration  of  the 
inward  life  ?  Then  and  then  only  can  the  movement  be  guided 
by  reason.  Otherwise  it  must  fall  a  prey  to  sinister  passions  and 
prove  itself  a  destructive  foe  to  all  genuine  culture. 

There  are  great  differences  between  the  various  schools  of 
realistic  thought.  In  certain  important  respects,  indeed,  they 
stand  in  directly  antithetic  relations  to  each  other.  But,  despite 
all  their  differences,  they  have  one  fundamental  point  of  likeness, 
and  that  is  their  way  of  regarding  life.  For  them,  its  main  rela- 
tionship is  its  relationship  to  the  world,  to  the  sense-environment 
of  nature  and  society.  To  understand  nature  and  subdue  her 
to  the  purposes  of  man,  to  free  society  from  the  blemishes  which 
have  been  sanctioned  by  tradition,  and  to  help  all  its  members 
to  attain  as  much  happiness  as  they  can — this  seems  to  the  real- 
ists the  highest  and  the  supremely  satisfactory  goal  of  human 
endeavour.  It  is  easy  enough  for  them  to  win  the  sympathy  of 
their  contemporaries  for  this  belief  of  theirs,  because  it  simply 
states  as  a  matter  of  philosophical  principle  the  persuasion  which 
is  actually  dominating  the  life  of  the  period.  Moreover,  it  does 
not  presuppose  any  complex  hypotheses,  but  works  apparently 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        551 

with  quite  obvious  and  intelligible  data.  This  fact  is  very 
favourable  to  its  advance,  especially  at  a  time  when  the  masses 
are  pressing  eagerly  forward  and  boldly  venturing  an  answer  to 
the  most  difficult  and  ultimate  questions.  From  this  point  of 
view  we  may  regard  the  struggle  of  realism  with  the  traditional 
idealism  as  a  collision  between  the  living  present  and  the  dead 
past,  and  therefore  the  most  radical  methods  would  seem  to  be 
the  best. 

But  though  its  elevation  to  the  rank  of  a  philosophical  prin- 
ciple may  strengthen  the  position  of  realism,  it  at  the  same  time 
leads  to  the  recognition  and  realisation  of  its  limitations.  It 
makes  it  increasingly  obvious  that  realism's  most  dangerous 
foe  is  not  the  traditions  of  the  past,  but  the  fact  of  our  immediate 
life  as  it  springs  up  anew  in  each  one  of  us.  In  the  light  of  this 
we  cannot  but  regard  as  a  stupendous  error  the  attempt  to  con- 
struct the  inward  life  from  without,  to  make  reality  an  external 
world,  and  consequently  to  change  man's  relation  to  himself 
into  a  merely  outward  relation.  In  last  resort,  even  the  under- 
standing of  nature  and  the  fashioning  of  society  are  matters  of 
inward  experience,  and  the  denial  of  this  experience  would  in- 
volve the  collapse  of  realism.  If  realistic  systems  succeed  in 
reaching  a  passable  conclusion,  despite  their  repudiation  of  an 
independent  inward  life,  that  is  merely  because,  all  unobserved, 
they  draw  upon  idealistic  resources  to  supplement  their  own 
deficiencies,  and  indeed  do  so  the  more  in  proportion  as  they 
approximate  more  closely  to  complete  systems.  Remove  their 
supports,  and  they  soon  lose  coherency  and  reveal  their  emptiness 
and  dearth  of  meaning.  Man's  soul  is  a  fact:  who  can  deny  it? 
It  is,  indeed,  the  fundamental  fact  which  must  take  precedence 
of  all  others.  If  it  can  allow  itself  and  its  problems  to  be  over- 
looked for  a  time,  yet  it  will  not  be  ignored  for  ever.  It  will  again 
and  yet  again  assert  itself  as  the  most  important  thing  and  claim 
its  due  place  in  the  whole  scheme  of  life.  Realism  can  attract 
men  only  so  long  as  their  thoughts  are  dwelling  on  certain 
isolated  points  and  they  are  not  trying  to  frame  any  picture  of 
the  whole.  If  once  they  should  ask  what  is  the  purport  of  life  as 


552  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

a  whole,  what  sense  and  meaning  can  it  have,  then  the  realistic 
conception  of  it  will  soon  prove  to  be  unsatisfactory  past  all 
bearing.  What  it  offers  us  in  the  way  of  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  happiness  for  man  will  never  stand  the  test  of  being  looked 
at  in  relation  to  the  whole.  If  this  that  it  offers  were  really  all, 
there  would  be  nothing  left  us  but  gloomy  resignation  and  utter 
despair.  It  is  also  a  noteworthy  fact  that  the  most  important 
realistic  philosophers,  the  great  positivists  themselves,  Comte, 
Mill  and  even  Spencer,  the  soberest  of  them  all,  were  in  their 
later  years  unable  to  stifle  the  doubts  that  persistently  rose  within 
them.  Comte  was  compelled  to  give  his  thought  a  fresh  devel- 
opment; Mill  and  Spencer  were  both  haunted  by  the  presence  of 
an  unsolved  problem,  and  their  position  with  regard  to  religion 
underwent  in  consequence  a  far-reaching  modification. 

Thus  to  dispute  the  supremacy  of  realism  does  not  imply  any 
denial  of  its  significance,  or  any  failure  to  recognise  the  changes 
which  it  has  wrought  in  life,  and  which  will  have  to  be  taken 
into  account  by  all  succeeding  developments.  It  links  man 
much  more  closely  with  his  natural  and  social  environment,  and 
consequently  changes  in  essential  respects  the  conditions  which 
regulate  his  life  and  his  creative  work;  his  peculiar  temperament 
and  limitations  are  of  much  more  consequence  than  formerly. 
His  life  is  no  longer  a  process  of  peacefully  unfolding  an  already 
given  content,  but  the  content  has  to  be  acquired  through  hard 
'struggle  against  resistance  and  gradual  overcoming  of  opposi- 
tion. Realism,  moreover,  inspires  the  desire  no  longer  to  limit 
spiritual  privileges  to  the  favoured  few,  but  so  far  as  possible  to 
bring  them  within  the  reach  of  every  member  of  the  human  fam- 
ily. With  an  ideal  such  as  we  have  described,  and  a  still  wider 
range  of  suggestive  influence,  realism  may  well  serve  as  the 
forerunner  of  a  truer  and  purer  idealism.  But  this  happy  rela- 
tion between  the  two  schools  is  still  far  from  being  realised. 


THE   SEARCH   FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        553 

IV.  THE  REACTION  AGAINST  REALISM 

The  realistic  movement  of  the  nineteenth  century  had  com- 
pletely revolutionised  the  old  ideals.  But  from  its  first  inception 
the  movement  contained  the  germs  of  a  reaction  against  its  own 
tendencies.  The  century  had  found  its  true  greatness  in  work. 
It  was  through  work  that  man  seemed  to  achieve  happiness  and 
realise  his  proudest  ambitions.  But  work  itself  was  found  to 
obey  the  inward  dialectic  of  all  human  undertakings;  its  very 
development  revealed  its  limitations  and  threatened  to  stultify 
the  purpose  which  it  was  originally  intended  to  realise.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  work  became  more  complicated  and  differen- 
tiated, and  more  rapid  in  its  processes,  did  the  individual  tend  to 
become  a  mere  inept  feature  in  a  soulless  routine:  his  sphere  of 
expression  grew  more  and  more  restricted,  his  connection  with 
the  system  more  and  more  binding.  The  whole  care  being  be- 
stowed upon  outward  results,  the  inner  life  was  starved  and  all 
its  energies  contracted.  But  this  involves  a  contradiction  which 
vitally  affects  the  system  of  realism,  not  only  in  its  logical  but 
also  in  its  historical  aspect.  Men  had  been  attracted  to  the 
movement  by  the  hope  that,  through  entering  into  closer  rela- 
tions with  their  environment,  they  would  increase  the  richness 
and  resource  of  life,  and  pass  from  the  shadowy  existence  they 
had  hitherto  endured  into  the  full  experience  of  reality.  A  strong 
emotional  bias  influences  in  this  sense  the  whole  development  of 
realism.  But  now  the  world  which  was  to  provide  the  basis 
and  means  to  such  a  life  turns  ominously  against  the  soul  which 
was  to  realise  it.  He  who  aimed  at  being  the  lord  of  his  own 
labour  is  now  in  danger  of  becoming  its  slave.  He  is  subdued 
by  the  work  of  his  own  hand.  The  point  of  vantage  whence  he 
might  transform  events  into  experiences  becomes  more  and  more 
visionary  and  unattainable.  The  whole  system  thus  falls  to 
pieces.  Through  the  collapse  of  the  inward  life,  that  so-called 
reality  which  was  to  have  dispelled  the  shadowiness  of  existence 
becomes  itself  a  shadow.  With  the  loss  of  all  self-communion, 
our  life  ceases  to  be  in  any  real  sense  our  own :  it  becomes  the 


554  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

mere  r61e  which  nature  and  destiny  have  thought  fit  to  assign 
to  us. 

Such  a  movement  was  bound  before  long  to  meet  with  oppo- 
sition. The  opposition  came  from  two  different  quarters.  It 
came  both  from  the  side  of  a  new  idealism,  which  was  bent  on 
upholding  against  all  dissuasions  to  the  contrary  the  claims  of  a 
spiritual  cosmos,  and  also  from  the  side  of  a  subjectivism,  which 
made  salvation  depend  on  a  self -withdrawal  into  the  unchartered 
freedom  of  a  purely  subjective  experience.  In  any  given  person 
the  two  tendencies  may  meet  and  mingle  till  it  is  impossible  to 
distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  But  in  their  own  nature 
they  are  distinct,  and  call,  therefore,  for  separate  treatment. 

(a)  Idealistic  Movements  in  the  Nineteenth  Century 

Many  streams  of  tendency  have  united  to  swell  the  current  of 
the  idealistic  movement  of  recent  times.  But  amid  much  ebb 
and  flow  we  detect  the  persistent  impetus  of  the  older  move- 
ment, though  reinforced  by  other  propulsions  of  a  new  kind. 
The  idealism  of  the  German  poets  and  philosophers  did  not  by 
any  means  disappear  with  the  progress  of  realism:  it  spread  to 
other  nations,  bringing  into  being  new  movements,  whose  form 
of  appearance  varied  with  the  type  and  condition  of  the  nation 
affected.  Were  we  not  still  drawn,  as  in  the  previous  course  of 
our  inquiry,  to  give  the  problems  that  lie  nearer  to  us  precedence 
over  those  that  are  more  remote,  we  should  have  been  strongly 
tempted  to  make  a  study  of  the  far-reaching  influence  exercised 
over  human  life  by  the  German  Idealistic  movement,  and  to  trace 
how  its  different  aspects  attracted  different  peoples,  and  how  the 
movement,  in  being  thus  variously  assimilated,  suffered  changes 
of  a  corresponding  kind.  For  not  only  did  each  nationality 
appropriate  the  new  material  in  its  own  way,  it  sought  also  to 
accentuate  essentials,  grasped  the  detail  more  clearly  as  a  whole, 
and  gave  due  effect  to  the  leading  ideas.  Thus  to  take  a  special 
instance:  while  the  Germans  have  inclined  to  emphasise  the 
contrast  between  Kant  and  Hegel,  the  English  have  been  mainly 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        555 

impressed  by  the  agreement  between  the  two  thinkers;  and  it  is 
only  another  illustration  of  the  same  tendency  that  they  should 
find  it  easier  than  we  do  to  effect  a  sympathetic  rapprochement 
between  our  classical  and  our  romantic  writers.  For  our 
neighbours,  the  manifold  differences  between  the  two  schools  are 
less  significant  than  the  ideal  of  life  which  is  common  to  both,  the 
life  which  transcends  all  merely  utilitarian  considerations  and 
within  the  depths  of  our  own  personality  opens  up  a  new  world. 

The  greater  attention  devoted  by  the  nineteenth  century  to  the 
study  of  history  and  society  served  in  many  ways  to  encourage 
the  shaping  of  life  in  an  idealistic  direction.  The  revival  of  the 
past  in  all  its  breadth  and  fulness,  and  above  all,  the  increased 
familiarity  with  its  heroic  epochs,  were  in  themselves  an  immense 
enrichment  of  the  general  life;  and  as  the  work  of  the  time  was 
seen  to  affiliate  itself  with  that  of  remote  antiquity  through  an 
unbroken  chain  of  connecting  links,  a  broader  basis  was  won  for 
life  and  at  the  same  time  greater  steadiness  and  stability.  We 
need  only  refer  to  religion,  law  and  art  to  see  how  effectively 
the  historical  movement  has  brought  out  the  fulness  and  the  force, 
the  concreteness  and  the  individuality  of  the  spiritual  life. 

The  expansion  of  life  from  an  individual  to  a  social  centre, 
from  the  single  self  to  the  social  organism,  has  brought  about 
very  similar  results.  It  is  not  only  the  state,  but  the  churches 
as  well,  that  have  gained  in  power  and  influence  through  their 
more  stable  organisation  and  the  greater  energy  they  have 
shown  in  grappling  with  social  problems  which  incessantly  grow 
more  formidable  and  insistent.  And  in  proportion  as  these 
systems  have  developed,  they  have  striven  to  awaken  the  indi- 
vidual member  to  a  sense  of  his  intimate  connections  with  the 
life  of  the  whole,  and,  avoiding  all  exercise  of  outward  compul- 
sion, have  sought  to  induce  him  to  shape  his  own  life  for  himself. 
These  tendencies  are  plainly  operative  in  the  life  of  the  state; 
but  the  church  demands  no  less  a  broad  and  liberal  basis.  In  the 
words  of  Cardinal  Newman,  the  church  can  no  longer  afford  to 
be  a  mere  "institution  of  gentlemen  for  gentlemen,"  and  as  the 
writer  proceeds  to  show,  the  desire  for  greater  spontaneity  of  life 


556  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

may  be  true  sister  to  the  longing  for  historical  solidarity,  for  an 
all-sustaining  tradition. 

Finally,  it  is  through  a  conjunction  of  historical  and  social 
motives  that  the  idea  of  nationality  has  won  its  elevating  and 
cementing  influence.  Art,  both  literary  and  plastic,  has  found, 
through  its  close  alliance  with  national  history,  a  perennially 
fruitful  vocation.  It  has  been  able  to  body  forth  the  cherished 
memories  of  a  people  in  living  shapes  that  speak  with  power  to 
the  soul,  and  by  casting  the  halo  of  romance  over  ordinary  life 
has  relieved  it  of  its  emptiness  and  unreality. 

In  these,  as  in  many  other  ways,  the  tendencies  that  mark  the 
movement  of  the  nineteenth  century  have  worked  in  favour  of 
idealism  and  its  advocacy  of  a  spiritual  order.  Of  especial  im- 
portance for  the  furthering  of  idealistic  conviction  was  the  fact 
that  no  longer,  as  in  the  days  of  the  Enlightenment,  did  the  spir- 
itual life  appear  to  be  concentrated  within  a  number  of  solitary 
individualities,  but  was  felt  to  be  diffused  through  all  the  con- 
nections of  the  great  corporate  whole,  whose  solidarity  is  made 
manifest  in  history  and  society.  The  inward  life  now  fully  self- 
organised  thus  assumes  the  cohesion  of  a  world,  and  can  effec- 
tively cope  with  the  organisation  of  nature.  Such  consolidated 
advance  of  the  spiritual  life  is  in  itself  sufficient  evidence  that  the 
progress  of  the  nineteenth  century  does  not  respond  exclusively 
to  the  Realistic  Idea.  But  other  influences  have  militated 
against  the  dominance  of  realism.  The  century  has  come  to  see 
that  its  subservience  to  realistic  standards  has  been  cramping  its 
development,  and  reactions  against  a  realist  order  of  life,  reac- 
tions that  have  become  ever  more  and  more  pronounced,  have, 
accordingly,  arisen  within  the  very  movement  of  realism  itself. 
Nor  is  it  the  mere  form  of  life  that  has  proved  unsatisfying,  but 
also  its  content.  Men  have  felt  more  and  more  poignantly  how 
unsatisfying  is  all  action  that  is  merely  utilitarian,  and,  as  such, 
persistently  thwarts  the  spontaneous  development  of  life  from 
within,  attaches  it  to  supports  outside  itself,  and  will  not  vouch- 
safe to  it  any  value  for  its  own  sake.  There  is  born  a  yearning 
which  takes  deeper  and  ever  deeper  root  for  what  is  both  in- 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW   SOLUTIONS        557 

wardly  and  expressively  beautiful,  beautiful  in  the  more  uni- 
versal sense  of  giving  joy  in  itself,  and  beautiful  also  in  the  nar- 
rower sense  of  yielding  a  specifically  aesthetic  satisfaction ;  there 
arises  a  longing  that  the  whole  life  may  be  invaded  by  that 
authentic  loveliness  which  transcends  and  chastens  the  appetites 
and  all  their  joys.  This  aspiration  meets  us  in  the  thought  and 
art  of  all  the  civilised  nations,  and  in  the  case  of  such  men  as 
Ruskin  it  crystallises  into  a  creed. 

Corresponding  to  the  movement  from  utilitarianism  to  beauty 
for  beauty's  sake,  there  is  a  change  in  the  disposition  of  life  it- 
self, a  movement  from  social  solidarity  and  its  historical  basis  to 
the  self-sufficiency  of  personality,  of  individuality.  The  tyran- 
nical pressure  exerted  by  society — a  pressure  which  tells  more 
heavily  against  freedom  than  the  mere  fiat  of  a  despot  can  pos- 
sibly do — could  not  fail  to  provoke  a  reaction  through  the  painful 
feelings  excited  by  its  smoothing,  equalising,  levelling  propen- 
sities. A  strong  desire  for  independence  asserts  itself,  a  desire 
for  individual  importance  and  distinction.  Personality  becomes 
again  the  first  and  foremost  consideration.  And  by  personality 
is  meant  a  concentration-centre  of  the  spiritual  world,  a  point  of 
convergence  for  countless  threads  of  existence,  a  point,  again, 
at  which  life  acquires  the  immediate  certainty  of  its  own  exist- 
ence, is  exalted  to  a  state  of  pure  self -immediacy,  and  can  at  the 
same  time  gather  itself  together  for  resolute  action  and  energeti- 
cally challenge  such  abuses  as  its  environment  offers.  However, 
the  intellectual  expression  of  these  convictions  is  treated  as  of 
secondary  importance.  They  have  value  only  as  radiations  of  the 
life's  own  process,  and  therefore  share  in  the  activity  and  the 
freedom  of  the  life  itself.  These  views  give  rise  to  a  new  type  of 
idealism,  to  a  personal  idealism,  of  which  Carlyle  and  Emerson 
may  be  reckoned  as  the  chief  exponents.  Both  start  from  the 
basis  of  Protestant  Christianity,  nor  do  they  ever  break  away 
from  this  point  of  departure,  but  they  throw  off  all  allegiance  to 
doctrinal  formulas,  regarding  them  as  mere  symbols  and  noth- 
ing more.  They  hold  to  life  itself  as  the  one  supreme  fact,  and, 
having  grasped  its  essentially  human  element,  set  it  forth  with  the 


558  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

utmost  clearness.  In  Carlyle's  case,  these  convictions  take  a 
form  which  is  somewhat  harsh  and  austere.  The  forces  of  per- 
sonality are  here  mustered  in  full  strength  and  defiantly  establish 
their  superiority  to  the  world.  In  the  fervour  of  heroic  thought 
they  wage  relentless  war  against  all  the  wrongs  and  insincerities 
of  the  age.  Emerson's  temper  is  more  gracious  and  friendly,  and 
though  it  meets  us  fresh  from  the  upper  reaches  of  thought,  its 
keen  intellectual  refinement  never  impairs  the  earnestness  of  his 
message.  The  human  note  he  strikes,  the  vital  thought  he 
breathes,  are  laden  with  glimpses  of  reality  potent  to  harmonise 
man's  spirit  with  itself,  with  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  and 
with  the  nature  that  is  around  him.  This  personal  idealism, 
with  its  wealth  of  stimulus  and  its  close  relation  to  modern  life, 
is  in  no  sense  a  mere  echo  of  the  German  Idealistic  movement, 
though  it  stands  in  manifest  connection  with  it;  it  takes  its  place 
as  an  original  systematisation  of  life,  as  a  unique  achievement  of 
the  nineteenth  century. 

But  whatever  value  we  may  continue  to  attach  to  this  form  of 
idealism,  we  cannot  disguise  from  ourselves  the  fact  that  it  does 
not  really  vindicate  its  own  contention — the  thesis,  namely,  that 
a  self-dependent  spiritual  cosmos  envelops  the  whole  being  of 
man — but  rather  reaffirms  positions  held  by  previous  thinkers. 
Nor  can  we  deny  that  it  gives  us  rather  the  experience  and  con- 
fession of  certain  unique  individuals  than  an  organised  life  in 
which  all  forces  co-operate  for  the  common  good,  and  that  in 
this  respect  realism  has,  indeed,  the  advantage  over  it.  The 
movement  may  succeed  in  weakening  the  force  of  realism, 
but  it  is  powerless  to  subdue  it  once  and  for  all.  If  Realism 
is  to  be  radically  dealt  with,  it  is  not  enough  to  insist  on  its  limi- 
tations, its  rights  must  also  be  respected.  Realism  can  be  con- 
quered only  through  being  assigned  its  proper  place  within  some 
larger  and  more  generous  scheme  of  life.  Who  could  wish  to 
deny  that  we  are  still  left  with  questions  yet  unanswered,  and 
problems  that  are  yet  unsolved  ? 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        559 

(b)  Subjectivism.    Nietzsche 

Subjectivism  is  more  closely  related  to  realism  than  to  ideal- 
ism in  this  respect,  that  it  restricts  the  whole  life  of  man  to  the 
sphere  of  immediate  experience.  But  within  this  sphere  it  is 
radically  opposed  to  realism,  since  reality,  as  subjectivism  con- 
ceives it,  lies  primarily  in  the  individual's  own  subjective  condi- 
tion, and  not  in  outside  things.  Moreover,  its  main  aim  is  not, 
as  in  realism,  the  subjugation  of  the  external  world,  but  the  full 
unfolding  of  the  Subject.  Now  the  capacity  to  take  refuge  in 
subjective  feeling,  and  in  this  retreat  to  fortify  oneself  against  all 
outside  disturbance,  is  the  inalienable  birthright  of  a  man,  nor 
can  the  advance  of  realism,  however  irresistible,  deprive  him  of 
this  right.  Thus  the  path  of  subjectivism  became  the  highway 
for  those  who  sought  escape  from  the  pitiless  encroachments  of 
realism,  and  it  was  followed  up  with  ardent  enthusiasm. 

As  this  passion  took  root  and  grew,  the  scheme  of  life  which  it 
evolved  proved  in  all  respects  antagonistic  to  the  corresponding 
scheme  of  realism.  A  concern  for  one's  own  individual  condi- 
tion runs  counter  to  the  temper  which  troubles  over  the  state  of 
society;  the  emphasising  of  the  peculiar,  the  distinctive,  the 
unique,  conflicts  with  the  requirement  of  a  universal  order,  and 
with  the  demand  for  corporate,  collective  effort;  the  contention 
that  each  man  must  be  characteristically  himself  and  that  every 
sphere  of  life  is  sui  generis  contradicts  the  counter-claim  that  all 
men  shall  be  equal,  and  all  spheres  alike.  Political  and  social 
activity  yields  place  to  artistic  and  literary  creation,  which  now 
asserts  itself  as  the  chief  means  for  insuring  to  the  individual 
full  self-possession  and  enjoyment.  Subjectivism  appeals  to 
art,  apart  from  whose  aid,  indeed,  it  would  speedily  have  become 
a  shadowy  schema,  empty  of  all  content.  And  art,  summoned 
to  the  new  task  of  giving  shape  and  fixity  to  subjective  moods, 
assumes  an  appropriately  peculiar  form:  its  main  aim  is  no 
longer  that  of  faithfully  copying  the  object,  but  rather  of  stirring 
the  soul  intensely  and  begetting  ecstasies  of  emotion.  Every- 
where, so  far  at  least  as  the  influence  of  this  movement  extends 


560  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

we  find  outline  sacrificed  to  colour,  the  drama  to  the  lyric.  Such 
plays  as  do  exercise  a  potent  influence  over  the  mind  of  the  time 
owe  their  success,  above  all,  to  the  appeal  they  make  to  the 
emotions;  and  even  when  the  dramatic  interest  bears  on  prob- 
lems affecting  social  relations,  the  dramatist  cares  less  about 
giving  a  true  and  faithful  rendering  of  the  facts  than  he  does 
about  vividly  portraying  the  effects  produced  by  these  facts  upon 
the  mind.  We  must,  however,  admit  that  subjectivism  has 
herein  a  certain  advantage  over  idealism,  that  it  is  able  to  aban- 
don itself  to  these  impressions  and  emotional  agitations  without 
either  prejudice  or  ethical  bias.  Here  for  the  first  time  the  in- 
ward life  seems  able  to  unfold  its  rich  resources  without  let  or 
hindrance,  and  each  individual  being  seems  at  last  to  enter  into 
the  full  possession  and  enjoyment  of  his  freedom. 

A  movement  so  broadly  influential  as  this,  affecting  as  it  did 
all  the  civilised  peoples  and  rich  in  literary  inspiration,  was 
bound  to  find  expression  in  some  philosophy  of  life.  Such  a 
philosophy  we  have  in  Nietzsche's  (1844-1900).  Conflicting  as 
may  be  the  judgments  passed  upon  this  remarkable  thinker  and 
artist,  it  is  at  least  certain  that  the  influence  which  he  exercises 
would  be  unaccountable  apart  from  the  existence  of  a  wide- 
spread temper  answering  to  his  own,  a  temper  which  not  only 
finds  itself  reflected  in  his  writings,  but  also  ennobled,  ennobled 
by  artistic  genius.  And  what  is  here  so  brilliantly  set  forth, 
exercising  on  the  heart  already  tuned  to  the  message  a  magical 
fascination,  is  the  complete  sovereignty  of  the  self-sufficing  sub- 
ject, proudly  repudiating  all  connection  with  a  non-ego;  it  is  the 
limitless  rights  of  the  artistically  gifted  individuality.  A  deep- 
rooted,  variously  motived  aversion  to  the  prevailing  tendencies 
of  the  time  here  finds  a  concentrated  expression :  indignation  at 
a  stereotyped,  hidebound  civilisation  which  depresses  all  life  to 
a  dead,  soulless  level;  a  rebellion  against  the  sacrifice  of  indi- 
viduality to  the  enslaving  requirements  of  conformity  and  prac- 
tical utility;  a  profound  dislike  to  the  self-complacency  and 
arrogance  of  the  bourgeoisie,  whether  lettered  or  unlettered; 
a  dislike  of  the  tendency,  all  too  marked  in  the  habits  of  the 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        561 

German  races,  to  shut  oneself  up  within  the  narrow  limits  and 
barren  seclusion  of  the  philistine's  world;  and  finally,  a  native 
repugnance  to  all  moral  and  religious  ties,  the  spiritual  meaning 
of  which  is,  however,  wholly  lost  sight  of.  With  the  repudiation 
of  these  ties  there  grows  up  a  vehement  desire  for  a  wider  life, 
a  longing  for  the  unrestrained  development  of  all  one's  faculties, 
the  will  for  authority  and  power.  Everywhere  we  find  the  indi- 
vidual called  upon  to  limit  himself  and  practise  self-sacrifice: 
he  is  to  submit  himself  to  the  control  of  others,  to  adjust  himself 
to  others,  sacrifice  his  interests  to  those  of  others.  Yet  for  what 
reason  and  to  what  end?  And  how,  indeed,  are  these  ties  to 
persist  once  they  have  been  inwardly  outlived  by  the  progress  of 
civilisation  ?  Let  the  individual  exalt  his  own  life,  and  make  the 
realisation  of  this  his  one  supreme  end.  Let  him  strive  above  all 
else  to  enjoy  and  to  aggrandise  himself,  to  raise  his  lot  above  the 
average  and  increase  to  his  utmost  capacity  the  distance  between 
himself  and  the  common  herd.  Civilisation  reaches  its  climax, 
not  in  the  moderate  well-being  of  the  majority,  but  in  the  strik- 
ing successes  of  the  few.  Submission  to  a  stereotyped  past  must 
give  way  before  a  full  and  vigorous  appropriation  of  the  living 
present.  The  outlook  bears  promise  of  a  new  life,  incomparably 
richer,  sincerer  and  more  animated. 

It  is  extremely  difficult  to  give  any  just  estimate  of  this  whole 
movement.  Those  to  whom  this  philosophy  appeals  are  too  apt 
to  lose  all  power  of  criticism  in  their  admiration  for  it,  whereas 
those  whom  it  repels  are  inclined  to  reject  it  root  and  branch. 
We  must  be  particularly  on  our  guard,  however,  against  judging 
and  condemning  the  system  on  the  ground  of  the  rabid  character 
of  some  of  its  utterances.  A  philosophical  emotionalism  such  as 
Nietzsche's  would  be  untrue  to  its  own  nature,  did  the  passing 
moment  fail  to  chronicle  the  passing  mood;  and  the  system 
being  what  it  is,  it  was  inevitable  that  the  thinker,  in  rejecting 
what  he  felt  to  be  foreign  and  hostile,  should  support  the  rejec- 
tion with  the  whole  force  of  his  passionate  nature.  There  is 
much  that  is  rude  and  untempered  in  Nietzsche,  much  that  may 
wound  contrary  susceptibilities,  and  indeed  cannot  help  doing 


562  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

so.  Moreover,  when  the  thought,  as  here,  follows  the  mood, 
glaring  contradictions  are  unavoidable,  and  to  attempt  to  bring 
the  whole  into  one  teachable  system  is  to  attempt  the  impossible. 
Still  other  thinkers  have  been  open  to  the  same  criticism,  without 
thereby  forfeiting  their  importance  as  thinkers;  Nietzsche  is 
perfectly  entitled  to  demand  that  in  appreciating  his  work  we 
shall  consider  it  as  a  whole  and  in  its  most  distinctive  quality. 

The  peculiarity  of  Nietzsche's  work  does  not  lie  in  the  nov- 
elty of  its  content;  the  main  thoughts,  even  the  characteristic 
aphorisms,  can  be  traced  back  to  an  older  date,  and  in  this 
respect  the  thinker  appropriated  and  developed  much  more  than 
he  created.  What  is  new  is  the  form  in  which  this  content  is 
presented.  A  peculiarly  refined  sensibility  and  a  remarkably 
vivid  and  penetrating  style  give  to  the  old  the  power  of  the  new, 
the  influence  and  spontaneity  of  the  present.  How  ancient,  for 
instance,  is  the  idea  of  a  periodicity  in  things,  of  the  endless  self- 
repetition  of  the  order  of  nature,  and  yet  how  Nietzsche  makes 
us  feel  it  as  though  it  were  a  new  truth !  We  might  go  further 
and  say  that  Nietzsche's  way  of  referring  everything  exclusively 
to  the  emotional  mood  of  the  subject,  with  his  craving  for  life, 
sets  the  whole  aspect  of  being  in  a  new  and  peculiar  light.  All 
things  now  move  and  are  in  flux;  the  whole  splits  asunder  into 
forces  that  work  either  for  or  against ;  the  sharpest  contrasts  are 
set  up;  nothing  is  neutral  or  indifferent;  everything  has  its 
strong,  emotional  colouring  and  is  pressed  into  party-service. 
The  more  deeply  the  levelling,  equalising  tendencies  of  the 
modern  realistic  culture  were  realised,  the  more  would  Nietz- 
sche's conception  of  life  appear  as  a  reviving  and  emancipating 
force,  an  initiation  into  a  life  of  spontaneity  and  originative  power. 

But  the  very  circumstance  which  gives  to  this  whole  view  its 
uniqueness  and  effectiveness,  the  constant  reference  to  the  mood 
of  the  individual,  the  mood  in  which  the  individual  self-con- 
sciously exercises  his  own  freedom,  also  defines  its  limits  and 
indicates  its  dangers.  For  a  philosophy  of  this  mood-centred 
kind,  however  ennobled  it  may  be  through  the  power  and  the 
beauty  of  art,  is  still  unable  to  lose  itself  disinterestedly  in  ob- 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        563 

jects  and  realise  their  meaning  from  within ;  it  cannot  do  justice 
to  the  activities  of  things  from  the  point  of  view  of  their  inner 
necessities  and  connections,  and  in  consequence  of  this  limita- 
tion, it  is  also  unable  to  distinguish  between  the  essence  of  any 
given  matter  and  its  realisation  through  human  agency.  Im- 
pressions are  appropriated  in. the  total  form  in  which  they  are 
presented,  and  their  worth  approved  according  to  their  value 
for  the  Subject.  It  is  impossible  to  be  just  under  these  condi- 
tions, and  a  philosophy  which  is  bound  by  them  is  very  liable  to 
fall  into  exaggerations,  whether  of  approval  or  of  disapproval; 
and  the  disapproval,  in  particular,  is  apt  to  degenerate  into  gro- 
tesque caricature. 

This  subjective  emotionalism  fails  also  in  achieving  its  own 
distinctive  end,  the  attainment  of  an  inward  self-sufficiency;  for 
it  is  only  when  the  human  organism  is  inwardly  growing,  stead- 
fastly rooted  within  an  inner  world  and  nourished  at  the  sources 
of  the  inner  life,  that  such  self-sufficiency  is  realisable.  But  how 
can  this  philosophy  claim  an  inner  world  ?  Its  rapid  flight  over 
the  surface  of  things  yields  it  picture  after  picture,  but  no  depth 
of  inward  meaning.  The  world  as  mirrored  in  the  fleeting  life 
of  feeling  cannot  reflect  more  of  the  nature  of  events  and  their 
connections  than  can  be  fleetingly  felt.  What  it  dislikes  may 
indeed  be  rejected,  but  it  cannot  be  conquered.  It  is  of  course 
quite  possible  to  indulge  in  paradoxical  expressions  of  independ- 
ence, but  the  paradoxical  form  may  easily  conceal  a  real  de- 
pendence. Nietzsche  is  too  inclined  to  be  content  with  merely 
parrying  and  returning  blows.  It  seems  to  him  that  he  has  set- 
tled the  whole  question  when  he  has  contemptuously  dismissed 
certain  superficial  views  of  a  popular  kind,  which  were  never 
really  held  by  any  one  interested  in  the  subject  for  its  own  sake. 
If  morality,  religion,  Christianity  were  no  more  than  what 
Nietzsche  represents  them  to  be,  their  rejection  could  not  but  be 
hailed  as  an  act  of  deliverance;  but,  in  point  of  fact,  at  their 
own  proper  source  whence  they  flow  forth  with  spontaneous 
force  and  freshness,  fertilising  what  is  deepest  in  man's  nature, 
they  are  something  essentially  different  from  what  Nietzsche 


564  THE   MODERN  WORLD 

imagines  them  to  be,  and  something  incomparably  greater. 
And  we  must  remember  that  this  subjective  emotionalist  ob- 
tained the  material  for  his  picture  from  a  study  of  men  rather 
than  principles,  so  that  even  his  rejections  imply  a  dependence 
upon  humankind.  We  do  not  deny  that  Nietzsche's  system 
contains  valuable  suggestions  of  a  moral  and  religious  nature, 
but  they  are  left  undeveloped,  and  the  balance  of  his  effective 
influence  lies  with  what  he  denies  rather  than  with  what  he 
affirms. 

Nietzsche's  work,  taken  as  a  whole,  reveals  rich,  spiritual 
capacity,  vitality,  freshness,  and  the  most  extraordinary  mobility 
of  feeling.  Thoughts  flash  and  cross  each  other,  interwoven  with 
the  most  marvellous  art,  though  the  art  not  infrequently  degen- 
erates into  artifice.  Incidentally,  too,  we  come  across  many 
genuine  truths,  though  these  have  no  connection  with  any  lead- 
ing motive.  But  we  find  no  independent  development  of  the 
system  as  a  whole,  no  convincing  simplicity  of  thought,  no  ex- 
pression of  native  spiritual  power.  And  yet  without  these  we 
cannot  hope  to  overcome  the  distraction  of  the  present  nor  win 
a  stable  basis  for  life. 

What  holds  true  of  Nietzsche  holds  true  of  subjectivism  in 
general.  The  attempt  to  cut  the  subject  adrift  from  the  world, 
and  make  it  depend  on  itself,  was  certainly  stimulating.  It 
opened  up  new  possibilities  and  shed  a  new  light  on  many  old 
positions.  But  this  by  itself  cannot  give  to  life  a  spiritual  sub- 
stance or  an  inspiring,  unifying  purpose.  True  power  of  thought 
tends  more  and  more  to  degenerate  into  an  artificial  subtlety. 
The  individual,  in  outbidding  all  others,  threatens  to  overreach 
himself.  lectures  are  presented  which  ravish  for  the  moment, 
but  give  no  essential  assistance  to  life.  In  the  rush  and  hurry  of 
many  feet  the  truths  that  matter  are  forgotten  and  the  inward 
coherency  of  our  social  life  is  lost.  Thus,  despite  the  rich  diver- 
sity of  its  contributions,  subjectivism  cannot  rank  as  more  than 
a  mere  passing  phase  which  humanity,  under  the  spur  of  its  own 
spiritual  nature,  is  even  now  outgrowing  and  is  destined  in  time 
to  outlive  altogether. 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        565 

V.  THE   PRESENT  SITUATION 

The  position  at  the  present  moment  conclusively  proves  that 
the  content  of  man's  life  is  not  the  easy,  unsought  product  of 
a  natural  process  of  historical  development.  For  after  all  the 
weary  work  of  many  thousand  years,  we  are  to-day  in  a  condi- 
tion of  painful  uncertainty,  a  state  of  hopeless  fluctuation,  not 
merely  with  regard  to  individual  questions,  but  also  as  to  the 
general  purpose  and  meaning  of  life.  Through  long  ages  of 
experience  and  many  a  painful  shock  of  revolution,  our  western 
civilisation  had  won  to  a  stable  and  coherent  system  of  ideas  and 
convictions  which  fixed  man's  relation  to  reality  in  a  particular 
way,  impressed  a  definite  character  upon  our  life,  and  assigned 
to  the  individual  his  proper  position  and  task.  Now  when  the 
modern  world  took  up  the  problem  of  life  and  developed  it  along 
new  lines  and  from  a  fresh  point  of  view,  it  at  first  seemed  that 
its  activity  was  in  no  way  directed  against  the  traditional  order; 
it  appeared  to  be  rather  friendly  and  supplementary  than  hostile 
and  subversive.  Its  later  developments,  however,  revealed  more 
and  more  clearly  its  revolutionary  character,  and  the  most  recent 
period  of  all  has  been  especially  remarkable  for  the  clearness  and 
force  with  which  it  has  brought  out  the  latent  opposition  and 
compelled  attention  to  it.  The  old  foundations  of  life  have  been 
shaken  and  the  new  ones  are  not  yet  sufficiently  established. 
Whereas  the  struggle  used  to  rage  round  and  about  such  central 
facts  as  morality  and  religion,  their  basis  and  their  precise  sig- 
nification, now  to  an  ever-increasing  extent  the  facts  themselves 
are  questioned;  doubt  arises  as  to  whether  they  can  really  be 
affirmed  as  facts  at  all.  And  at  the  same  time,  man  has  lost  his 
proud,  assured  position  in  the  universe.  The  older  thought  ex- 
alted him  to  a  position  of  unique  grandeur,  and  required  him 
to  concern  himself  chiefly  with  the  development  of  the  traits 
peculiar  to  him  as  man.  The  supremacy  of  man  is  now  more 
and  more  disputed,  and  especially  the  assertion  that  his  place 
among  the  creatures  is  unique.  But  if  this  position  be  aban- 
doned, what  are  we  to  make  of  the  purpose  of  life? 


566  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

The  problems  which  arise  in  this  connection  are  rendered 
much  more  acute  by  the  social  changes  going  on  around  us. 
Hitherto,  spiritual  conflict  has  usually  been  confined  to  the 
limited  arena  of  cultivated  society,  and  the  general  mass  of 
mankind  has  not  been  much  affected.  Now,  however,  the  peo- 
ple are  pressing  forward;  they  not  only  demand  a  voice  in  the 
settlement  of  ultimate  questions,  but  require  that  the  whole 
structure  of  society  shall  be  regulated  with  reference  to  their 
opinions  and  interests.  They  are  very  liable,  moreover,  to  that 
harsh  intolerance  which  always  characterises  big  mass  move- 
ments. The  masses  are  only  very  slightly  and  superficially 
influenced  by  the  experiences  and  results  of  the  general  move- 
ment of  history;  it  is  small  wonder  that  they  yield  readily  to  the 
impressions  of  the  immediate  moment  and  allow  merely  surface 
considerations  to  determine  their  policy  of  life.  In  a  situation  of 
this  kind,  where  a  select  inner  circle  of  culture  is  confronted  with 
great  social  changes,  the  forces  of  negation  easily  gain  the  upper 
hand.  The  public  lends  a  ready  ear  to  the  spirits  of  denial,  the 
"genii  with  their  tokens  reversed."  Against  these  stormy  forces, 
a  more  tranquil  reflection  and  profounder  deliberation  often 
have  small  chance,  and  we  may  even  seem  to  have  lost  all  that 
had  been  so  hardly  won  through  agelong  toil. 

This  is  one  aspect  of  the  present  situation,  and  an  aspect 
which  every  one  will  recognise;  but  it  is  not  the  only,  nor  the 
final,  way  of  regarding  it.  Our  whole  treatment  of  the  past  has 
been  based  on  the  conviction  that  human  destinies  are  not 
decided  by  mere  opinions  and  whims,  either  of  individuals  or  of 
masses  of  individuals,  but  rather  that  they  are  ruled  by  spiritual 
necessities  with  a  spiritual  aim  and  purport,  and  that  for  man 
a  new  world  dawns  transcending  the  merely  natural  domain — 
the  world,  namely,  of  the  spiritual  life.  It  is  only  this  conviction 
that  has  enabled  us  to  assign  to  history  any  positive  meaning  and 
to  extract  from  all  the  efforts  and  errors  of  different  men  and 
different  ages  some  definite  and  permanent  result.  And  though 
these  spiritual  necessities,  this  deeper  basis  of  life,  are  apt  at  the 
present  moment  to  be  pushed  into  the  background  and  over- 


THE   SEARCH   FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        567 

looked,  they  have  not,  therefore,  ceased  to  be  operative.  The 
man  of  to-day  is  much  more  than  he  himself  is  conscious  of 
being,  and  the  very  denial  of  this  deeper  nature  can  only  result 
in  emphasising  it,  and  thus  provoke  fresh  proofs  of  its  inde- 
pendence. In  proportion  as  the  confusion  clears  and  we  can  no 
longer  rest  content  with  the  usual  half-hearted  compromises — 
here  Yes,  there  No — we  find  ourselves  increasingly  unable  to 
relegate  the  fundamental  questions  of  our  life  and  our  spiritual 
existence  to  a  secondary,  subordinate  position.  Even  the  bare 
raising  of  the  problem  implies  a  definite  rejection  of  the  shallow, 
self-satisfied  negative  criticism  which  measures  its  success  by 
the  extent  of  its  robberies,  and  actually  thinks  it  exalts  man  by 
systematically  eliminating  everything  in  him  that  calls  for  rev- 
erence. The  struggle  for  man's  spiritual  self-preservation  must 
end  in  one  of  two  ways :  either  his  nature  will  become  stronger 
and  richer,  or  he  will  be  reduced  to  the  desperate  course  of 
abandoning  all  his  ideals.  It  is  only  a  shallow,  irreflective  tem- 
per that  can  conceive  of  any  third  way  as  even  possible.  But  if 
the  balance  of  power  inclines  once  again  to  the  affirmative  posi- 
tion, then  again  wrill  the  agelong  struggles  of  mankind  acquire 
greater  significance.  Though  we  may  not  cravenly  seek  refuge 
in  the  past  from  the  perplexities  of  the  present,  we  can  yet  make 
it  live  again  within  us  in  close  communion  with  our  inmost  soul, 
and  thus  complete  its  labours  by  our  own.  For  even  as  we  re- 
kindle it,  we  can  free  it  from  all  that  was  only  casual  and  transi- 
tory, and  make  it  reveal  to  us  the  eternal  verities  that  transcend 
our  merely  human  vision.  As  we  scan  the  story  of  the  centuries, 
with  all  their  changing  currents  and  shifting  experiences,  we  may 
feel  more  convinced  than  ever  that  away,  untouched  by  human 
thoughts  and  wishes,  great  spiritual  forces  are  moulding  our 
existence,  forces  that  give  us  anchorage  and  guidance,  no  matter 
how  tumultuous  the  sea.  History  cannot,  indeed,  be  a  sub- 
stitute for  our  own  endeavour,  but  it  can,  and  must,  serve  to 
guide  it  in  the  way  of  righteousness  and  truth. 

But  the  craving  for  a  stronger,  deeper  life  in  a  larger  and  a 
nobler  setting  is  no  mere  echo  of  past  ages,  but  an  urgent  present 


568  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

need.  If  to-day  it  finds  but  an  incomplete  and  halting  expression, 
yet  its  presence  is  unmistakable,  and  we  cannot  doubt  that  it  will 
grow  and  spread,  since  it  is  especially  the  young,  with  their 
quick  response  to  spiritual  appeals,  who,  in  every  civilised  land, 
feel  it  most  keenly. 

That  such  a  motive  is  really  at  work  is  evidenced  more  par- 
ticularly by  the  widespread  interest  in  art.  For  though  fashion 
may  have  much  to  do  with  this,  and  the  average  society  person 
certainly  looks  to  art  rather  for  enjoyment  than  for  inward  cul- 
ture, yet  we  may  very  pertinently  ask  what  it  is  that  gives  the 
fashion  its  power,  and  why  men  court  beauty  so  eagerly.  And  the 
answer  can  only  be  that  we  are  possessed  by  a  longing  for  more 
soul  in  life,  more  inward  joy,  and  that  it  is  as  an  antidote  to  the 
level  monotony  of  our  ordinary  environment  that  we  seek  to 
introduce  into  it  the  quickening,  ennobling  influences  of  art. 

The  very  obvious  reawakening  of  the  religious  problem  points 
in  a  similar  direction;  for  it  shows  up  in  a  particularly  clear 
light  the  peculiar  position  of  our  spiritual  life  to-day.  The  main 
current  of  intellectual  work  runs  for  the  most  part  counter  to 
religion.  There  is  still  a  steady  secession  from  her  ranks,  and  the 
secession  is  spreading  from  one  social  class  to  another.  A  devi- 
talising rationalism  is  now  beginning  to  eat  its  way  into  the 
masses  of  the  people.  If,  notwithstanding,  the  religious  problem 
is  again  knocking  insistently  at  the  doors  of  our  intellectual  life, 
threatening  to  push  all  other  questions  aside,  this  points  clearly 
to  two  things.  In  the  first  place,  there  are  other  forces  at  work 
in  man  than  mere  intellectualistic  reflection,  and  secondly,  in  the 
higher  strata  of  the  intellectual  atmosphere  quite  different  cur- 
rents prevail  from  those  which  are  influencing  the  life  of  the 
people  generally  and  even  the  so-called  cultured  sphere.  Do  not 
previous  experiences  justify  us  in  believing  that  man's  own  spir- 
itual work  will,  in  the  end,  prevail  against  him,  and  body  forth 
in  some  new  form  the  truths  that  are  eternal  ? 

Nor  can  philosophy  escape  the  influence  of  this  movement. 
It  is  true  that  philosophy  to-day  is  very  largely  either  of  the 
learned  professional  kind,  which  hugs  the  shores  of  history  and 


THE   SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        569 

natural  science,  or,  in  so  far  as  it  aspires  to  independence,  takes 
by  preference  the  form  of  an  epistemology  or  critical  analysis  of 
knowledge;  and  there  is,  indeed,  a  lamentable  deficiency  of 
original  production,  a  dearth  of  those  spiritual  creations  which 
define  the  highways  of  human  progress,  raise  the  level  of  human 
life,  and  give  fresh  direction  to  the  activities  of  men.  But  the 
aspiration  after  such  creative  work  grows  ever  stronger,  the 
limitations  of  mere  learning  or  mere  critical  reflection  become 
more  and  more  patent.  We  feel  with  increasing  force  the  need  to 
synthesise  life  afresh,  the  need  of  some  unifying,  sustaining  system 
of  ideas.  Such  a  system  cannot  spring  from  the  facts  as  they 
present  themselves  to  us  in  our  ordinary  unsystematised  expe- 
rience :  we  must  first  transform  them,  we  must  have  recourse  to 
metaphysics.  More  than  ever  do  we  feel  the  truth  of  Hegel's 
saying  that  a  civilised  nation  wrhich  has  no  metaphysics  is  like 
a  temple  decked  out  with  every  kind  of  ornament,  but  possessing 
no  Holy  of  Holies.  Mere  learning  begins  to  pall  on  us  no  less 
even  than  shallowness  and  negation,  for  it  threatens  our  spiritual 
nature  and  with  it  our  chance  of  truth.  Before  all  else,  it  be- 
hoves us  to  secure  the  foundations  of  our  spiritual  life. 

There  are  two  ways  of  regarding  times  like  ours,  times  which 
are  driven  back  on  fundamentals,  and  have  to  struggle  in  order 
to  safeguard  even  the  bare  possibility  of  a  spiritual  life.  In  the 
first  place  they  are  hard,  uncomfortable  times,  distracted  and 
unsettled,  hotbeds  of  dissent  and  denial;  the  pettiness  of  man 
and  the  uncertainty  of  his  position  are  brought  home  to  us  with 
ruthless  directness.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  once  we  clearly 
recognise  the  constraining  force  of  their  problems  and  the  spir- 
itual necessities  which  inform  them,  they  become  stirring,  pro- 
gressive, fruitful  times,  insuring  to  man  a  unique  dignity  and 
vocation.  For  they  show  that  only  through  his  own  deed  can  he 
win  to  what  is  fundamental  in  his  nature,  that  he  himself  is  a 
co-worker  in  the  building  of  the  whole,  that  he  is  lord  of  his 
own  destiny.  Such  times  constrain  him  to  look  problems  in 
the  face,  to  seek  no  support  from  outside,  but  to  find  it  rather  in 
the  world  which  is  inwardly  present  to  his  spirit.  They  break 


570  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

up  much,  but  after  all  they  only  break  what  was  from  the  outset 
breakable.  That  which  is  permanent  and  essential  stands  out 
all  the  more  clearly,  and  life  emerges  from  the  testing  in  a 
fresher,  truer  form.  It  is  times  like  these  which  foster  the  sense 
of  responsibility,  and  increase  the  significance  of  the  individual 
person;  showing  clearly  that,  on  the  high  level  of  the  spiritual 
life,  it  is  not  the  age  that  makes  the  man  but  the  man  the  age. 
Thus,  despite  all  the  complexities  of  the  present  situation,  we 
may  conclude  our  historical  survey  without  any  gloomy  fore- 
bodings. So  long  as  belief  can  rise  from  the  contemplation  of 
that  which  is  merely  human  to  the  recognition  of  a  spiritual 
world,  we  can  look  on  our  perplexities  as  purely  transitional, 
and,  while  striving  to  mould  life  afresh,  can  still  draw  much 
that  is  of  value  from  the  spiritual  treasure-house  of  the  past. 
For  the  past,  rightly  understood,  is  no  mere  past. 

VI.  THE  AMERICAN  VIEW  OF  LIFE 

The  American  view  of  life  shows  with  special  clearness  how 
views  of  life  are  a  product  of  the  forms  of  life,  an  expression 
of  life  in  its  actuality.  It  has  been  of  special  significance 
for  the  American  view  of  life,  not  that  given  conditions  were 
to  be  continued  but  that  a  new  beginning  had  to  be  made,  a 
new  order  of  things  to  be  instituted.  This  involved  deliver- 
ance from  the  burdens  of  the  past.  Much  that  was  anti- 
quated was  discarded.  Eyes  were  turned  not  so  much  back- 
ward as  forward;  justice  was  done  to  the  present;  life  was 
simplified.  Every  individual  was  obliged  to  rely  more  on 
his  own  activity,  to  trust  to  his  own  energy,  to  assume  re- 
sponsibility for  himself.  All  of  life  gained  in  freshness,  clear- 
ness, and  originality. 

But  in  proportion  as  individuals  were  self-reliant  they 
could  accomplish  the  construction  of  a  new  life  only  by  the 
concentration  of  energy  in  community  of  life  and  labour. 
There  must  be  coherence,  collaboration,  mutual  confidence. 
Thus  the  communion  founded  on  the  free-will  of  the  individual 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        571 

and  effected  by  it  becomes  the  central  idea  of  the  new  life. 
With  entire  freedom,  man  feels  himself  to  be,  above  all  things, 
a  member  of  the  collective  whole.  That  which  had  once 
separated  men  from  one  another,  gave  way  to  that  which 
they  had  hi  common.  The  idea  of  equality  acquired  great 
power.  It  made  man  see  and  honour  in  man  the  rational 
nature  adapted  to  freedom.  Thus  the  idea  of  human  rights 
could  originate,  and  a  hearty  enthusiasm  for  the  dignity  of 
man  be  aroused.  The  greater  mobility  of  relations  and  the 
rapid  current  of  life  were  opposed  to  the  formation  of  exclu- 
sive castes;  society  attained  and  preserved  a  democratic  char- 
acter. This  social  order  acquired,  furthermore,  a  peculiar 
stamp  from  religious  conviction,  which  from  the  outset  acted 
in  American  life  with  special  energy.  Indeed,  the  motives 
were  religious  which  led  to  immigration  and  to  the  establish- 
ment of  new  commonwealths.  Even  amid  the  changes  and 
doubts  of  modern  life  this  religious  character  has  persisted. 
No  divergence  in  the  inner  conception  of  religion  has  shaken 
the  firmness  of  the  fundamental  thought,  the  consciousness 
of  belonging  to  a  higher  world.  Even  when  philosophy  has 
produced  peculiar  representations  of  the  world,  as  with  the 
"  Transcendentalists "  and  the  "Pragmatists,"  a  friendly  at- 
titude to  religion  has  still  been  preserved.  Everywhere  there 
has  remained  an  adequate  estimate  of  its  meaning  and  its 
problems.  Religion  has  belonged  to  the  fixed  stability  of 
things. 

The  union  of  these  two  tendencies,  the  union  of  democracy 
and  religion,  is  pre-eminently  characteristic  of  American  ideal- 
ism. Whereas  in  Europe  often  both  these  tendencies  proved 
to  be  in  obstinate  opposition  to  one  another,  in  America  they 
have  been  of  mutual  support,  indeed  have  often  penetrated 
one  another.  The  religious  mode  of  thinking  ascribed  to  man, 
through  his  relation  to  God,  an  infinite  value,  and  established 
the  equality  of  all.  It  afforded  human  society  a  spiritual 
background,  and  filled  it  with  inner  vitality;  it  thereby  en- 
nobled social  service.  Consequently  society  by  its  great 


572  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

achievements  has  created  a  condition  of  things  which  has 
acted  as  a  confirmation  of  religion,  and  has  made  it  overcome 
all  theoretical  doubts.  Religion  has  not  been,  as  has  often 
been  the  case  in  Europe  and  particularly  in  Germany,  founded 
merely  on  the  intellect.  From  the  union  of  both  tendencies 
has  arisen  a  peculiar  culture  which  has  made  the  idea  of  a 
society  vitalised  by  religion  and  carried  on  by  the  free-will 
of  individuals  the  central  point  of  its  life  and  endeavour.  In 
this  way,  as  relations  to  society  and  service  to  society  have 
been  made  predominant  the  practical  has  gained  ascend- 
ency in  life  and  thought.  There  has  been  here  no  field  for 
subtleties  about  the  ultimate  principles  of  things — no  de- 
pendence on  metaphysics.  In  religion,  too,  dogmatic  teach- 
ings have  given  place  to  ethical  and  social  problems.  Only  so 
could  inner  communion  persist  amid  every  variety  and  dif- 
ference of  opinion.  Indeed,  from  a  practical  point  of  view 
this  division  can  be  regarded  even  as  an  advantage,  as  it  has 
marked  out  definite  fields  of  labour  and  has  provoked  a  noble 
rivalry  in  action  and  creation. 

This  social  method  of  thinking  has  produced  great  results: 
it  has  trained  individuals,  above  all  things,  to  be  mindful  of 
the  collective  whole;  to  care  for  it,  and,  if  need  be,  to  sacri- 
fice themselves  for  it.  It  has  evoked  untiring  activity  for  the 
improvement  of  social  conditions — a  great  philanthropy  and 
readiness  to  help  which  extends  to  all  branches  of  life. 
Moreover,  the  energetic  care  for  culture  and  education,  and 
the  unlimited  readiness  to  make  sacrifices  in  the  interest  of 
schools,  is  connected  with  this  social  trait:  it  makes  that 
solicitude  appear  as  a  sacred  duty.  A  moral  culture  has  pro- 
ceeded from  society  which  in  different  directions  has  encour- 
aged mutual  respect  as  well  as  decorum  and  order  of  life. 

On  the  contrary,  however,  the  dangers  are  apparent  which 
inevitably  accompany  a  predominantly  social  culture — the 
danger  that  the  individual  in  his  political  freedom  may  be- 
come largely  dependent  on  society,  the  danger  that  man  may 
be  valued  solely  according  to  his  services  to  his  neighbours, 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        573 

and  that,  consequently,  the  full  perfecting  of  his  own  person- 
ality and  individuality  may  be  impaired,  and  also  the  danger 
that  much  pretence  may  be  the  result  and  may  claim  to  be 
the  complete  truth,  that  one  may  act  not  on  his  own  account, 
but  so  as  to  make  an  impression  on  some  one  else.  But  in 
America  these  dangers  have  been  overcome  by  a  life  of  coura- 
geous and  energetic  aspiration:  the  idealism  of  conviction 
has  not  been  shaken  by  perils  and  reverses.  In  American 
life,  a  robust  realism  is  a  concomitant  of  this  idealism  which 
joins  religion  and  democracy  in  close  union  with  actual  life. 
Many  have  come  and  are  still  coming  to  America,  principally  to 
improve  their  economic  condition.  They  have  there  found  an 
open  field  for  their  activity  and  for  the  full  development  of 
their  energies.  There  has  been  a  hitherto  untouched  nature 
to  subjugate,  and  at  the  same  time  the  welfare  of  each  and 
all  was  to  be  advanced.  Thus,  with  this  in  view,  life  has 
turned  toward  the  visible  world,  and  material  advantages 
have  come  into  the  foreground.  As  material  success  has 
dominated  thought,  a  realistic  way  of  thinking  has  been 
brought  about  and  has  prevailed  extensively  in  society.  It 
found  an  entrance  into  the  popular  mind,  without  being  in- 
corporated in  philosophical  systems.  But  this  realism  did  not 
come  into  crude  opposition  to  the  idealism  just  described:  it 
did  not  become  a  vulgar  materialism.  For  while  much  greed 
and  love  of  pleasure  in  the  case  of  individuals  might  be  in- 
cidental to  this  movement,  its  compelling  force  was  something 
better,  was  the  joy  of  making  life  stronger  and  the  conquest 
of  rebellious  nature  by  human  intelligence  and  skill. 

The  leading  social  idea  has  spread  its  influence  farther  in 
this  direction:  there  has  always  been  a  mighty  impulse  to 
employ  one's  own  profit  for  the  common  good.  In  the  midst 
of  material  effort  the  claim  of  the  community  has  been  also 
recognised  as  an  indispensable  obligation. 

Thus  realism  and  idealism  have  formed  two  different  poles 
of  life,  and  have  implied  a  differing  valuation  of  the  world 
about  us;  but  they  did  not  come  into  direct  opposition  so 


574  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

long  as  a  common  race  of  people  and  a  common  spiritual  char- 
acter encompassed  life  and  effort.  But -thus  it  happened  in 
earlier  times;  for,  although  members  of  different  nations  had 
come  to  America,  the  English  race  still  formed  the  original 
stock,  and,  even  in  the  case  of  the  others,  a  peculiar  Protestant 
way  of  thinking  governed  convictions  and  life.  At  the  same 
time  the  Germanic  element  was  decidedly  predominant. 
Thus  an  inner  communion  could  persist  in  spite  of  all  variety 
and  all  contrasts. 

But  now  the  modern  development  has  brought  problems 
upon  problems  which  have  changed  essentially  the  view  of 
life.  Above  all,  this  has  been  effected  by  the  radical  trans- 
formation of  labour  which  was  consummated  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  As  work  constantly  assumed  a  more  tech- 
nical character  and  was  principally  machine  work,  it  became 
detached  from  individuals  and  became  a  force  in  the  face  of 
the  situation  of  man.  At  the  same  time  the  aggregation  of 
the  masses,  the  abolition  of  distances,  the  rapidity  of  com- 
munication, and  also  an  incessant  change  in  the  means  of 
production  has  raised  the  entire  economic  system  to  gigantic 
proportions,  and  has  created  a  rude  opposition  between  labour 
and  capital.  The  complications  and  conflicts  which  have 
grown  out  of  this  are,  as  the  social  movement  shows,  common 
to  all  mankind,  but  under  American  conditions  they  have  at- 
tained a  singular  height.  As  capital  has  been  confined  chiefly 
to  great  organisations  and  has  more  and  more  controlled 
economic  life,  there  has  begun  to  be  not  only  much  unfair 
gain,  but  also  a  great  limitation,  indeed  a  suppression,  of  the 
freedom  of  individuals.  The  fundamental  conception  of 
democracy  became  in  this  way  seriously  impaired,  and  there 
could  not  fail  to  be  an  increasing  reaction  against  the  danger 
of  plutocracy.  The  nation  is  here  threatened  with  an  in- 
ternal schism.  Other  complications  have  arisen,  due  to  the 
disintegration  of  the  former  homogeneous  human  material. 
The  Germanic  immigration  has  more  and  more  given  way 
before  that  of  other  nations.  Very  different  races  now  meet 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  NEW  SOLUTIONS        575 

in  America.  In  the  course  of  time  a  mixture  of  blood  cannot 
be  prevented,  and  it  is  an  open  question  whether  it  will  here 
have  a  happy  result;  for,  as  the  experience  of  history,  above 
all  the  last  periods  of  antiquity,  show,  a  mixture  of  blood  can 
prove  to  be  a  serious  injury.  With  the  disappearance  of  the 
former  homogeneity  Protestantism  is  also  in  danger  of  losing 
its  preponderance,  and  it  is  becoming  ever  more  difficult  to 
preserve  a  common  national  character,  which  for  a  democracy 
is  indispensable. 

In  connection  with  these  questions  factors  are  at  work 
which  are  apart  from  conscious  spiritual  labour,  but  neverthe- 
less this  labour  finds  much  to  do  in  relation  to  them;  it  too 
must  take  action  to  the  best  of  its  ability  against  the  threat- 
ening dangers.  But  this  counteraction  cannot  succeed  by 
seeking  entirely  new  ways,  by  breaking  with  its  proper  his- 
tory, but  only  by  reverting  to  the  principles  of  its  proper 
nature,  in  energetic  further  development  and  combination  of 
these  characteristics.  In  America  the  idea  of  a  spiritually 
and  religiously  animated  democracy  will  remain  the  central 
idea,  but  it  is  necessary  to  give  a  richer  content  and  a  greater 
depth  to  the  social  constitution:  it  should  not  merely  serve 
man's  well-being,  but  it  must  become  the  vessel  and  the 
vehicle  of  a  spiritual  world.  It  must  not  accept  men  as  it 
finds  them,  but  must  by  means  of  that  spiritual  world,  make 
more  of  men.  The  different  spheres  of  life,  for  example  science 
and  art,  are  to  be  treated  as  ends  in  themselves:  they  must 
be  effective  for  the  inner  elevation  of  man  and  not  merely 
furnish  means  for  his  ends.  Unified  labour  must  create  a 
spiritual  atmosphere,  a  kingdom  of  spirit,  a  spiritual  culture, 
by  virtue  of  which  energetic  warfare  can  be  waged  against 
the  littleness  and  perversity  of  every-day  life  and  of  mere 
human  culture.  There  is  thorough  need  of  attaining  a  power- 
ful inner  life,  a  coherent  inner  world,  there  to  take  a  stand, 
thence  to  furnish  higher  aims  to  life,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  bring  to  complete  development  the  independence  of  per- 
sonality. In  order  to  attain  this  the  individuals  must  not  only 


576  THE  MODERN  WORLD 

fully  deploy  all  their  energy,  but  must  join  themselves  closely 
to  those  who  are  like-minded  and  unite  them  for  labour  in 
common.  For  this  an  energetic  idealism  is  indispensable, 
a  firm  faith  in  a  higher  world  and  its  presence  in  the  soul  of 
man.  Here,  moreover,  can  the  inherent  religious  nature  of 
the  American  people  find  its  complete  confirmation;  but  after- 
wards, within  the  different  confessions  an  effort  must  be  made 
energetically  to  manifest  and  to  bring  to  full  activity  that 
which  they  have  in  common,  that  which  elevates  life,  truths 
which  are  necessary  and  eternal. 

All  this  taken  together  includes  a  multitude  of  problems. 
When  we  consider  them  the  opinion  might  be  justified  that 
never  at  any  one  time,  upon  any  one  people,  were  such  diffi- 
cult problems  imposed.  But  there  need  be  no  doubt  that 
American  life  will  be  successful  in  their  effective  solution. 
This  life  has  a  grand  style;  it  overcomes  opposition  with  per- 
fect clearness,  and  moves  along  simple  lines;  it  has  much 
energy,  freshness,  and  warmth;  it  is  rich  in  possibilities  which 
are  still  slumbering  but  which  will  be  awakened;  it  has  a 
very  great  abundance  of  personalities — men  and  women — 
who  are  self-supporting,  who  have  a  strong  consciousness  of 
moral  responsibility,  and  who  work  with  supreme  fervour  and 
unwearied  zeal  for  high  ends.  Only  these  personalities  must 
bind  themselves  more  closely  together :  the  idealism  so  widely 
prevalent  must  be  more  organised  and  crystallised  in  order  to 
lead  on  victoriously  the  upward  movement.  Thus  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  through  all  dangers  and  conflicts  American  life 
may  reach  a  sure  path,  develop  an  independent  type  of  cul- 
ture, and  at  the  same  time  unitedly  form  a  view  of  life  in  the 
direction  of  an  optimism  which,  while  fully  recognising  the 
darkness  of  human  life,  is  steadfast  to  overcome  it.  There 
are  nations  whose  problems  and  difficulties  are  greater  than 
their  ability  to  solve  them;  there  are  others  in  the  case  of 
whom  human  energy  is  sufficient  for  the  most  difficult  prob- 
lems because  it  makes  them  rise  from  outflowing  life  toward 
the  unlimited;  and  to  these  nations  belongs  the  American. 


APPENDICES 


APPENDICES 

APPENDIX  A 

He  finds  in  it  not  only  the  principle  of  universal  order,  but 
he  understands  it  as  an  eternal  and  happy  activity  overcoming 
the  world,  reposing  in  itself,  as  a  pure  self-contained  thinking 
of  thought.  But  if  such  doctrines  had  a  great  attraction  for 
the  mediaeval  thinkers,  they  have  no  influence  upon  the  elab- 
oration of  Aristotle's  own  representation  of  the  world. 

APPENDIX  B 

There  is  no  other  epoch  which  manifests  so  plainly  what 
impels  man  to  religion  and  what  he  hopes  to  find  in  it;  such 
a  positive  valuation  may  reveal  certain  principal  outlines  in 
all  the  troubled  confusion,  and  at  length  in  all  the  variety  a 
collective  movement  can  be  discerned,  which  for  centuries  has 
decided  the  destinies  of  men.  Different  nations  appear  and 
in  their  belief  evince  their  deepest  yearning  and  hoping;  but 
the  individual  achievements  touch  one  another  and  inter- 
twine; through  all  the  conflict  there  arises  a  certain  agree- 
ment. In  this  conflict  Christianity  has  won  the  final  victory, 
but  it  has  itself  proceeded  from  that  wider  movement,  and 
without  it  is  not  to  be  understood. 

However,  the  height  of  Greek  thought  with  all  its  joy  in 
the  world  of  beauty,  and  with  all  its  pleasure  in  artistic  crea- 
tion, was  not  without  religion.  Art  and  intellectual  activity 
ennobled  traditional  belief,  and  the  mysteries  guaranteed  to 
inquiring  souls  the  hope  of  a  happy  life  beyond.  But  while 
in  the  convictions  of  that  time  the  universe  included  the  gods 
within  itself,  so  religion  also  was  effective  within  a  larger 
life  more  than  in  creating  a  new  life  out  of  its  own  resources, 

579 


580  APPENDICES 

and  for- this  it  demanded  the  entire  man.  This  indeed  it  is 
which,  above  all,  produces  a  peculiar  religion  and  religiosity. 
An  approach  to  such  a  religion  was  not  possible  without  a 
departure  from  former  ideals,  indeed  without  a  complete 
rupture  with  them.  Such  a  departure  undoubtedly  took  place 
on  Greek  soil.  We  are  to  seek  the  reason  for  this  not  merely 
in  difficult  and  disturbed  experiences  of  the  age,  but  perhaps 
rather  in  this — that  the  individual,  now  released  from  all  bonds, 
and  self -poised,  began  to  take  greater  care,  to  make  subtle  in- 
quiries, to  ask  questions;  and  in  this  way  eternal  riddles  of 
human  existence  became  the  importunate  problems  of  the 
present.  That  can  conduct  all  vital  courage  to  hesitation. 
But  if  religion  implies  such  a  convulsion,  it  is  essential  for  it 
not  to  surrender  to  this,  but  to  oppose  it  by  opening  up 
energetically  a  new  source  of  life.  Indeed,  in  the  turning 
toward  it,  even  the  insufficiency,  the  desperateness  of  present 
existence,  may  beget  in  man  a  firm  faith  in  the  inalienableness 
of  his  most  inner  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  demand  a  new 
activity  for  such  a  self-preservation. 

APPENDIX  C 

Lastly,  prominent  representatives  of  Stoicism  were  active 
in  this  direction;  no  one  more  so  than  Posidonius  (B.  C. 
135-51),  who,  a  Syrian  by  birth,  deepened  powerfully  the  re- 
ligious temper — thus  representing  with  special  emphasis  one 
Stoic  belief  in  divination — and,  particularly  among  the 
Romans,  brought  about  the  introduction  of  astrology. 

APPENDIX  D 

Like  the  representation  of  the  world,  the  shaping  of  life 
is  dominated  exclusively  by  religious  problems;  the  longing 
for  freedom  from  the  sorrow  and  darkness  of  the  world,  and 
for  a  perfect  life  in  God,  forces  everything  else  into  the  back- 
ground. The  more  direct  accomplishment  of  this  endeavour 


APPENDICES  581 

received  a  powerful  impulse  from  Judaism.  As  the  thought 
of  God  assumed  a  more  personal  character,  relation  to  the 
Godhead  became  more  intimate,  and  the  conception  of  faith 
assumed  the  form  of  personal  trust.  Finally,  however,  Greek 
thought  remained  supreme.  For  with  Philo  the  chief  op- 
position of  reality  is  not  that  of  good  and  evil,  but  of  spirit 
and  matter,  of  non-sensible  and  sensible,  of  eternal  being  and 
fleeting  becoming.  All  sensible  things  seem  to  him  impure, 
and  all  subject  to  sin  which  participate  in  becoming.  This 
causes  longing  for  union  with  God  by  means  of  mysticism  and 
ecstasy.  "  Philo  is  the  first  mystic  in  the  field  of  specifically 
monotheistic  piety"  (Bossuet).  Such  an  uplifting  of  the 
soul  to  a  height  which  commands  the  world  implies  a  rupture 
with  worldly  surroundings  and  an  indifference  to  all  that  is 
incidental  to  them.  Thus  historical  life  can  here  preserve  no 
independent  significance.  Yet  at  the  same  time  the  Jewish 
mode  of  thought  manifests  its  peculiar  traits.  Philo,  however, 
understands  his  own  doctrine  as  esoteric  only,  and  he  does  not 
apply  it  to  the  multitude;  but  he  does  not  separate  the  in- 
dividual from  the  rest  of  mankind  with  nearly  so  much  abrupt- 
ness as  the  Greek  thinkers  did.  In  the  separation  he  is  mind- 
ful of  a  union.  Since  man  does  not  dwell  in  a  desert,  he  should 
not  despise  others;  indeed,  the  thinker  demands  that  one 
should  be  concerned  not  only  about  his  being  but  about  his 
appearance.  Furthermore,  we  find  here  the  thought  of  a 
moral  solidarity  of  all  those  whom  the  common  relationship 
to  God  unites  in  a  community;  the  doing  and  suffering  of  the 
one  can  also  involve  the  others.  The  wise  man  appears  not 
only  as  a  support  but  also  as  an  atonement,  a  ransom  (\vrpov) 
for  the  wicked.  But  in  the  midst  of  Jewish  tradition,  Philo 
finds  many  intimations  and  connecting  links  for  the  mystical 
union  with  God,  striven  for  by  him  as  the  highest  good. 
That  in  this  union  all  particular  properties  must  vanish  before 
the  unity  of  pure  being,  he  finds  indicated  in  the  requirement 
of  the  law  that  the  high  priest  on  entering  into  the  Holy  of 
Holies  should  lay  aside  all  splendid  apparel  and  clothe  himself 


582  .      APPENDICES 

in  plain  linen.  Moreover,  the  necessity  of  an  extinction  of  all 
conscious  spiritual  life  he  finds  expressed  in  the  words  of 
Genesis:  "When  the  sun  had  set,  God  there  appeared  to 
Abraham." 

APPENDIX  E 

The  picture  of  declining  activity  would  be  incomplete  did 
we  not  consider  the  powerful  effects  wrought  about  this  time 
upon  the  West  by  the  religions  of  the  East.  Greece  proper 
was  for  different  reasons  less  affected  by  these.  From  the 
earliest  times  there  was  a  certain  connection  and  interchange 
of  ideas  with  Asia  Minor;  then  Greece  developed  its  own 
form  of  mysteries;  further,  the  artistic  and  moderate  senti- 
ment of  this  people  was  opposed  to  the  naturalistic  rudeness 
and  savage  violence  from  which  most  Asiatic  cults  could  never 
quite  free  themselves;  finally,  Christianity  here  soon  found  a 
wide  dissemination.  But  upon  the  Romans  these  cults  acted 
with  abundant  freshness  and  energy:  they  compelled  minds 
which  at  first  resisted,  the  more  powerfully  in  proportion  as 
the  traditional  state  religion  with  its  dry  triviality  corresponded 
less  to  the  psychical  needs  of  the  age.  Thus  the  religions 
themselves,  by  being  separated  from  the  national  soil,  experi- 
enced an  inward  transformation.  The  naturalistic  starting- 
point  receded  into  the  background ;  a  spiritual  content  and  a 
moral  activity  prevailed  more  and  more  over  rites  and  cults. 
More  and  more  the  different  tendencies  converged.  There 
arose  a  common  atmosphere;  indeed,  along  certain  lines  a 
universal  world  religion  was  developed.  Everywhere  ap- 
peared a  great  longing  for  a  new  life,  for  closer  relation  to  God, 
for  a  deliverance  of  the  soul  to  eternal  blessedness,  for  abso- 
lution in  answer  to  prayer,  and  for  moral  refinement.  This 
influence  of  the  Oriental  religions  on  western  Europe  began 
already  in  the  second  century  B.  C.;  it  grew  continuously;  it 
was  deepened  in  the  second  century  A.  D.,  and  in  the  third 
century  attained  its  greatest  strength.  In  their  differences,  as 
well  as  in  their  temporal  succession,  the  streams  of  this  are 


APPENDICES  583 

made  evident  to  us,  especially  in  the  excellent  investigations 
of  Cumont;  so  our  exposition  shall  follow  them. 

At  first,  the  Phrygian  cult  of  the  "Great  Mother,"  a  per- 
sonification of  the  productive  power  of  nature,  acted  upon  the 
Roman  West.  In  the  mysteries  of  Cybele  and  of  Attis,  who 
was  put  to  death  and  came  to  life  again,  the  believer  sees  him- 
self called  to  the  fellowship  of  extreme  pain  and  extreme  joy; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  is  united  with  the  Godhead  immeasur- 
ably closer  than  in  the  customary  Roman  religion.  "The 
gods  of  the  East  suffer  and  die  in  order  afterwards  to  rise 
again'"  (Cumont).  More  sensuality  and  more  brilliance  of 
colour  thus  entered  into  the  religion  of  the  Romans,  yet  at  the 
same  time  more  exaltation  and  more  fanaticism.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  agitation  of  the  greatest  extremes  of  feeling,  but  in 
a  nobler  form,  the  mysteries  of  Isis  and  Serapis,  coming  from 
Egypt,  effected  a  like  excitement  as  did  the  most  painful  dis- 
tress and  the  most  beatific  restoration.  Not  only  ritual 
attained  a  special  splendour,  but  religion  in  general  took  over- 
whelming possession  of  the  human  soul.  The  whole  of  life 
was  moulded  into  a  preparation  for  the  beyond,  and  thereby 
the  thought  of  immortality,  the  thought  of  a  continuous  life 
with  fullest  energy  of  body  and  soul,  attained  a  pathos  and 
distinctness  never  before  paralleled  in  the  ancient  world. 

Then  came  the  influence  of  Syrian  cults  whose  background 
was  the  Babylonian  representation  of  the  world.  According 
to  the  Semitic  character,  divine  and  human  here  were  sep- 
arated, and  the  Godhead  attained  unconditioned  sovereignty. 
At  the  same  time  the  ideas  of  purity  and  holiness  were  intensi- 
fied; but  the  thought  of  immortality  was  here  combined  with 
the  astronomical  representation  of  cosmic  construction,  and 
beatitude  now  first  appears  as  an  ascension  of  the  soul  on 
high,  as  an  elevation  to  shining  summits.  Astronomy  caused 
the  world  to  be  conceived  as  a  coherent  whole  whose  single 
parts  stand  in  incessant  reciprocity  with  one  another.  On 
the  one  hand,  this  produced  a  tendency  to  astrological  art  and 
magic;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  conception  of  the  world 


584  APPENDICES 

in  its  entirety  evoked  the  thought  of  the  unity  of  the  divine 
essence  as  the  bright  sun  was  equivalent  to  its  material  mani- 
festation here. 

At  length  the  cult  of  Mithras  emerged  from  Persia,  and  to- 
ward the  close  of  the  ancient  period  forced  back  all  others. 
An  ethical  dualism  here  formed  the  starting-point  which  sum- 
moned man  to  unceasing  conflict  for  the  triumph  of  the  good, 
which  thereby  made  him  an  actor  in  the  great  world-drama, 
and  brought  into  extreme  tension  his  ethical  energy.  Since 
there  was  here  no  doubt  about  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the 
good,  and  since  a  complete  restoration  of  all  things  was  pro- 
claimed, firm  and  joyous  confidence  could  be  united  with 
zealous  activity.  It  is  easy  to  conceive  that  such  a  religion 
with  its  virile  character  found  an  easy  entrance  with  the  Ro- 
mans, particularly  with  their  armies,  and  that  it  had  a  power- 
ful effect. 

Thus  these  various  religions  set  in  mighty  motion  the  entire 
circumference  of  psychic  life;  the  whole  scale  of  feelings  was 
excited:  sensibility  found  its  complete  justification,  phantasy 
drew  its  widest  circles,  but  will  and  action  also  attain  high 
ends.  By  every  means  the  union  of  human  life  in  invisible 
connections  was  accomplished;  everywhere  our  existence  was 
illuminated  and  understood  by  means  of  a  kingdom  of  faith. 
Nearer  and  more  sure  than  all  sensibility,  to  this  age,  was  the 
supersensible  world.  But  no  mutual  approach  and  no  fusion 
of  religions  as  yet  furnished  a  comprehensive  and  perfected 
world  of  thought  to  elevate  man  inwardly  in  his  religious 
tendency,  and  to  open  to  him  an  essentially  new  life.  It  was 
reserved  for  the  Greek  genius  to  accomplish  this.  Once  more, 
but  for  the  last  time,  it  displayed  in  Plotinus  its  surpassing 
power. 

APPENDIX  F 

Historical  criticism  leaves  it  beyond  doubt  that  the  tra- 
ditional portrait  acquired  many  traits  of  later  origin,  and, 
indeed,  this  accretion  is  not  limited  to  mere  enlargement  and 


APPENDICES  585 

embellishment,  as  is  customary  in  the  case  of  great  person- 
alities, but  it  pursues  a  special  direction  and  has  unmistakably 
a  determinate  tendency.  The  rapidly  developing  reverence 
for  Christ,  the  cult  of  Christ,  reacted  powerfully  upon  the  por- 
trayal of  Jesus  and  raised  it  above  all  human  measure.  Plainly 
it  blends  more  and  more  the  faith  of  Jesus  with  the  faith  of 
the  church  in  Christ  the  Redeemer  and  Son  of  God.  If  with 
such  knowledge  much  is  taken  away  from  the  portrait  of  the 
Master,  if  things  are  doubted  which  formerly  were  held  to  be 
indisputable,  it  may  be  understood  that  doubt  reaches  farther 
and  farther;  we  know  that  at  length  it  proceeds  even  to 
denying  the  historical  existence  of  Jesus.  This  certainly 
seems  to  us  a  gross,  scarcely  conceivable  error,  a  violence  done 
to  history,  in  favour  of  theories  which  in  religion  see  prin- 
cipally a  view  of  the  world,  and  therefore  cannot  recognise  the 
power  of  great  personalities.  We  see  plainly  in  what  direc- 
tion progressive  tradition  has  acted,  how  its  endeavour  has 
principally  been  to  exalt  Jesus  to  superhuman,  even  to  divine 
greatness.  Accordingly,  to  recognise  the  nature  of  this  ad- 
vance is  to  recognise  its  limits.  Under  such  influences  it 
may  indeed  prove  to  be  uncertain  what  Jesus  thought  of  his 
own  status,  how  he  regarded  his  relation  to  Judaism,  and  to 
the  Law,  how  his  future  and  the  future  of  his  work  appeared 
to  him.  But  the  case  is  entirely  different  if  a  thoroughly 
unique  kind  of  life  is  manifest  in  the  accounts  of  his  life  and 
activity,  if  an  unrivalled  individuality  is  expressed  in  them, 
which  unites  all  the  manifoldness  of  his  utterances  to  a  con- 
sistent type  of  life.  A  spiritual  individuality  of  that  kind 
cannot  be  invented  and  artificially  constructed  any  more  than 
a  Plato,  a  Dante,  a  Beethoven  can  be  put  together  from  iso- 
lated fragments.  For  the  creator  of  a  new  life  is  greater  and 
more  original  than  the  creator  of  the  greatest  work  of  art. 
As  Jesus,  through  all  the  dim  veil  of  tradition,  appears  as  such 
a  unique  and  creative  personality,  and  as  tradition  in  no  re- 
spect conceals  merely  human  features  and  occurrences  which 
are  inconsistent  with  his  deification,  we  should,  indeed  we 


APPENDICES 

must,  trust  to  the  truth  of  the  impression.  But  the  dis- 
courses of  the  first  three  Evangelists,  with  their  wonderful — 
deep  even  in  their  simplicity — and  vivifying  allegories  and 
parables,  present  for  any  unprejudiced  consideration  the  por- 
trait of  such  a  personality:  "Whoever  cannot  detect  in  the 
synoptic  foundation  a  wholly  individual  life,  has  failed  as  an 
investigator  in  this  field." 


We  cannot  present  the  views  of  life  during  the  early  cen- 
turies without  a  brief  appreciation  of  the  rise  and  success  of 
Christianity  in  the  face  of  a  hostile  world.  Here,  too,  modern 
inquiry  has  radically  altered  the  aspect  of  the  question.  We 
know  now  that  the  ancient  world  was  not  so  exhausted  and 
ruined  as  was  formerly  supposed;  we  know  further  that  it 
was  not  Christianity  alone  which  gained  dominion  over  souls, 
but  that  it  was  part  of  a  wider  religious  movement;  lastly, 
we  know  that  much  which  was  formerly  considered  peculiar 
to  it  belongs  to  that  general  movement,  that  it  took  much 
from  its  rivals,  and  that  peculiarities  of  the  nations  among 
whom  it  was  active  were  not  without  influence  upon  it.  On 
the  whole,  the  peculiar  distinction  of  Christianity  might  seem 
to  be  diminished.  Indeed,  in  many  quarters  at  present  a 
fondness  for  negation  has  been  inclined  to  put  a  lower  value 
upon  it,  and  at  length  to  explain  it  as  a  mere  conglomerate 
of  elements  gathered  in  every  direction.  Calmer  deliberation 
and  more  careful  inquiry  have  definitely  rejected  this  view; 
indeed,  in  the  end  one  has  been  obliged  to  demonstrate  its 
exact  opposite.  Christianity  may  be  in  agreement  with  much, 
may  be  dependent  on  many  things  alien  to  it,  but  a  more  exact 
comparison  with  its  rivals  will  cause  the  incomparable  pe- 
culiarity of  its  inner  essence  to  be  more  clearly  apparent,  and 
at  the  same  time  prove  that  its  victory  in  the  conflict  was 
thoroughly  justified. 

Necessarily  the  question  here  arises :    What  was  it  which  in 


APPENDICES  587 

those  times  gave  Christianity  such  superiority?  This  ques- 
tion is  different  from  that  as  to  its  inner  spiritual  essence, 
although  both  questions  are  closely  related. 

The  point  at  which  the  most  inner  essence  of  Christianity 
has  at  the  same  time  been  the  reason  of  its  strength  in  his- 
torical effectiveness  is  its  fundamentally  ethical  character, 
the  full  independence  of  spiritual  life  derived  from  this,  the 
most  determined  rejection  of  all  naturalism  and  all  deifica- 
tion of  nature,  which  the  ancient  world  never  quite  overcame. 
If  the  various  ethnic  religions  at  length  agreed  in  recognising 
a  single,  all-inclusive  godhead,  they  found  this  godhead  active 
principally  in  nature.  So  they  could  honour,  as  its  chief  mani- 
festation, the  sun,  the  sol  invicius.  The  Neo-Platonic  philoso- 
phy, indeed,  transformed  all  physical  into  metaphysical  being; 
but  the  latter  acquired  psychical  warmth  only  incidentally 
and  really  by  subterfuge.  At  any  rate,  it  remained  the  affair 
of  a  few  thinkers,  and  was  not  a  fertilising  stream  for  the  wider 
circles  of  mankind.  The  ethical  shaping  of  life,  on  the  other 
hand,  spoke  immediately  to  every  individual  and  called  him 
to  a  spiritual  world.  At  the  same  time  it  indicated  to  men 
their  mutual  relations,  imposed  a  decision  upon  every  indi- 
vidual, and  also  supported  him  by  a  fixed  social  solidarity. 
Nowhere  more  than  here  was  the  truth  manifested  that  it  is, 
after  all,  the  ethical  which  dominates  the  soul,  and  which  in 
troublous  times  makes  man  strong  in  himself  and  the  master 
of  destiny. 

For  this  ethical  independence  Christianity  owes  Judaism 
much  gratitude.  For  the  latter,  from  its  long  and  cruel  his- 
tory, contributed  an  inner  morality  and  a  spiritual  life  superior 
to  all  the  merely  natural.  This  way  of  thinking  first  became 
a  world  power,  however,  and  attained  inner  greatness  on  the 
soil  of  Hellenism,  and  by  the  effective  change  in  the  relation 
of  God  and  man.  The  Semitic  habit  of  thought  usually  em- 
phasises the  contrast  between  them;  the  Greek,  as  well  as 
the  Hindu,  is  more  concerned  with  their  union.  On  the  height 
of  religion  it  would  raise  man  to  divinity  itself,  and  have  him 


588  APPENDICES 

experience  a  "deification."  Thus  the  mystical  and  mysteri- 
ous element  of  religion  finds  its  justification,  and  the  entire 
man  is  provoked  to  elevate  his  character;  and  so  a  decided 
divorce  from  Judaism  is  effected.  At  the  same  time  Greek 
ideas  and  efforts  were  widely  extended,  and  the  special  char- 
acter of  that  time,  which  was  deeply  shaken  and  was  longing 
passionately  for  superior  aid,  exercised  a  powerful  effect.  Now, 
in  this  direction  it  was  the  exaltation  of  Jesus  to  a  divine  sta- 
tion and  honour  which  contributed  most  essentially  to  the 
triumph  of  Christianity  by  giving  to  that  effort  after  the 
union  of  the  divine  and  the  human  a  controlling  centre  and  a 
perceptible  intimacy.  Moreover,  whoever  to-day  objects  to 
this  tendency  should  not  deny  its  great  historical  significance, 
its  action  in  deepening,  strengthening,  and  warming  religious 
life. 

Yet  much  more  is  combined  with  this  tendency.  Fellow- 
ship with  the  destiny  of  Jesus  permits  the  believer  to  experi- 
ence the  whole  series  of  feelings  from  the  deepest  woe  to  the 
most  extreme  joy.  Furthermore,  the  age  which  needed  sup- 
port found  an  indisputable  authority,  a  firm  stability  of  faith 
which  could  avoid  all  discussion  and  resist  all  doubt.  That 
tendency  also  permitted  an  acceptance  of  the  supernatural, 
the  miraculous,  the  mysterious,  in  response  to  the  longing  of 
the  age  for  sensible  excitement,  splendour,  pomp,  and  even 
magic.  But  in  this  response  Christianity  preserved  modera- 
tion, and  even  if  it  often  obscured  it  did  not  lose  its  most  inner 
character. 

In  general  there  is  in  it  hardly  anything  so  valuable  as  that 
it  preserved  great  moderation  and  temperance  in  contrast 
with  the  passionate  excitements  and  stormy  movements  of 
the  age;  that  it  did  not  let  the  inner  glow  burst  forth  in  dev- 
astating flame,  but  by  quieter  control  warmed  every  rami- 
fication of  existence.  Its  treatment  of  the  social  question 
shows  this;  with  full  recognition  of  the  solidarity  of  men,  it 
has  kept  aloof  every  kind  of  boisterous  radicalism.  Already 
the  little  that  has  been  passed  in  review  is  sufficient  to  make 


APPENDICES  589 

the  triumph  of  Christianity  easy  to  understand;  this  will  be 
further  demonstrated  by  a  consideration  of  the  leaders  of 
thought. 

APPENDIX  H 

Few  periods  have  wrought  such  powerful  changes  as  did 
the  thirteenth  century.  The  crusades  were  coming  to  an 
end;  with  them  was  disappearing  a  great  undertaking,  and 
the  defeat  which  they  encountered  must  have  very  severely 
shaken  an  age  which  was  accustomed  to  regard  success  as 
decided  by  God.  It  was  necessary  to  find  a  counter-move- 
ment; it  was  found  in  a  powerful  agitation  both  for  a  psy- 
chical intensifying  and  a  social  extension  of  the  Christian  life. 
The  mendicant  orders  brought  Christianity  immeasurably 
nearer  the  people.  A  form  like  that  of  Francis  of  Assisi  shows 
how  religious  feeling  can  attain  to  a  homely,  profound,  and 
joyous  fervour;  how  it  succeeded  in  making  the  universe 
friendly  to  man  by  wonderfully  transfiguring  his  whole  en- 
vironment. Furthermore,  art  with  its  change  of  style  gave 
evidence  of  transformation  of  feeling  about  life.  Moreover, 
life  is  moved  more  powerfully  in  the  political  and  economic 
field,  and  wider  circles  consequently  participate  in  it.  Thus 
the  prevailing  world  of  thought  could  not  avoid  change,  all 
the  less  because  the  old  opposition  between  knowledge  and 
faith  had  reached  a  dangerous  climax  after,  from  the  time  of 
the  twelfth  century,  the  whole  of  the  Aristotelian  writings 
began  to  be  known  in  the  West. 

APPENDIX  I 

Not  only  for  the  formation  of  religious  life,  but  also  for 
general  culture  it  was  important  that  here  the  life  of  the  com- 
munity and  the  common  standing  of  the  Christian  commun- 
ion acquire  a  far  greater  significance  than  in  the  Lutheran 
branch  of  the  Reformation,  that  here  far  more  organising 
activity  is  developed,  and  that  this  calls  for  the  active  co- 


590  APPENDICES 

operation  of  individuals.  "The  institution  for  redemption 
should  at  the  same  time  be  an  institution  for  sanctification, 
should  manifest  its  activity  in  Christianising  the  life  of  the 
community,  while  subordinating  the  whole  circumference  of 
life  to  Christian  commandments  and  aims"  (Troltsch).  Thus 
there  appear  more  of  social  ethics  and  care  for  the  condition 
of  the  whole,  all  of  course  upon  a  strictly  religious  basis. 
Among  the  many  consequences  thus  produced,  this  is  es- 
pecially significant,  that  the  labour  of  the  civic  vocations 
is  inwardly  elevated  and  ennobled  through  its  relation  to 
the  community,  and  as  a  means  for  promoting  the  kingdom 
of  God;  and  also  that  economic  goods  acquire  value  chiefly 
in  the  field  of  religion.  Here,  together  with  the  sentiment 
of  community,  is  developed  a  mighty  industrial  energy  which 
has  a  progressive  action  beyond  ecclesiastical  forms,  even  in 
the  present.  Here,  especially,  Protestantism  has  exhibited 
itself  as  a  power  of  action;  from  this,  too,  it  has  become  in 
general  relations  a  world  power;  nowhere  more  than  here,  in 
spite  of  all  confessional  orthodoxy,  is  preparation  made  for 
the  civil  and  spiritual  freedom  of  modern  times. 

APPENDIX  J 

It  was  by  no  means  the  intention  of  the  Reformers  to  form 
a  particular  sect;  for  a  long  time  they  hoped  to  bring  the 
whole  church  under  the  renovating  process.  That  this  failed, 
that  Catholicism  established  itself  anew,  even  advanced  trium- 
phantly, is  not  merely  the  effect  of  power  or  strategy;  but 
through  that  mighty  impulse  Catholicism  has  of  itself  ac- 
complished a  regeneration,  or  rather  it  is  so  strengthened, 
which  indeed  was  already  making  for  moral  earnestness,  that 
it  could  undertake  its  lead.  Many  abuses  were  banished, 
the  education  of  the  priests  was  elevated,  moral  laxity  was 
zealously  opposed.  New  orders  worked  for  the  concentration 
of  energies,  for  willing  obedience,  as  well  as  for  works  of  help- 
ful love.  Thus  Catholicism  had  much  to  oppose  to  Protes- 


APPENDICES  591 

tantism,  and  the  final  result  was  a  permanent  schism  in 
Western  Christendom.  This  schism  has  produced  much  life 
and  keeps  mankind  in  incessant  movement. 

APPENDIX  K 

A  strict  naturalism  has  here  united  with  an  extraordinary 
logical  power;  while  the  exposition  combines  richness  in 
forcible  images  with  transparent  lucidity.  But  if  within  the 
space  limited  by  the  fundamental  plan  the  achievement  is  im- 
portant, if  determinism  hardly  anywhere  else  is  more  splen- 
didly represented,  if  here  already  the  doctrine  of  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas  appears  in  a  modern  form,  yet  the  limitations 
are  forcibly  perceived,  and  all  understanding  of  that  which 
lies  beyond  the  understanding  is  wanting.  Thus  religion  can 
here  signify  only  superstition. 

APPENDIX  L 

These  men  and  these  problems  bring  us  to  the  period  of 
Louis  XIV,  which  manifests  itself  as  especially  unfortunate  on 
its  religious  side.  For  the  fact  that  religion  is  here  amalga- 
mated with  political  objects,  and  must  also  contribute  to  the 
splendour  of  court  life,  involves  much  show  and  unjust  op- 
pression, which,  even  if  they  do  not  bring  about  disinclination 
to  religion,  at  least  prepare  the  way  for  it.  But  it  may  not 
be  forgotten  that  this  period  produced  much  genuine  religious 
life  and  activity — the  Christian  Brothers  (La  Salle)  may  be 
remembered  for  example — as  it  generally  is  contrariwise  the 
custom,  on  account  of  the  manifold  crude  negation  of  religion 
on  French  soil,  to  reproach  the  French  generally  with  super- 
ficiality and  indifference  in  matters  of  religion.  In  reality,  they 
have  been,  within  the  Catholic  Church,  the  most  productive 
nation  religiously  of  modern  times.  Indeed,  in  modern  times, 
strict  constitution  of  orders,  entire  unworldliness,  the  most 
austere  mortification  have  been  developed  nowhere  more  than 


592  APPENDICES 

in  France.  Furthermore,  that  age  is  not  to  be  judged  with 
predominant  reference  to  religion.  It  assumes  an  impor- 
tant place  in  the  progress  of  modern  civilisation.  Here  first 
modern  civilisation  as  a  whole,  although  in  many  respects  de- 
pendent on  antiquity,  was  perfected;  here  first  a  great  state 
recognised  and  furthered  the  problems  of  civilisation  in  their 
entirety;  here  first  the  modern  age  reached  a  consciousness 
of  its  peculiar  character  in  contrast  to  antiquity,  so  that  hence- 
forth it  became  customary  to  oppose  to  one  another  the  ancient 
and  the  modern,  and  to  compare  them.  The  more  special 
execution  of  this,  to  be  sure,  has  very  definite  limitations.  No 
rhetorical  pathos  and  no  splendid  pomp  can  conceal  the  pre- 
ponderating character  of  a  formal  and  intellectual  culture. 
Certainly  this  formal  culture  has  the  merit  of  having  success- 
fully resisted  degeneration,  and  of  having  brought  more  order 
and  elegance  into  modern  life;  but  it  is  comprehensible  that 
it  should  soon  have  met  with  crude  opposition,  and  that  a 
breach  with  it  became  necessary.  If,  however,  there  was  much 
tinsel  here,  it  was  not  all  tinsel.  Otherwise  this  movement 
would  not  have  had  so  great  an  effect  on  Europe  as  a  whole. 
A  consideration  of  the  views  of  life  has,  at  any  rate,  to  take 
account  of  the  fact  that  this  field  effected  the  most  varied 
enlightenment  of  the  situation  of  the  human  soul,  that  it  pro- 
duced much  nice  observation  of  man  and  much  clever  worldly 
wisdom. 

APPENDIX  M 

Vico  (1668-1744),  who  is  to-day  praised  more  than  he  is 
read,  is  more  nearly  related  to  the  Renaissance  and  its  Pla- 
tonism  than  to  the  Illumination.  But  from  the  latter  he 
received  powerful  impressions,  and  in  comprehending  its  dif- 
ferent suggestions,  he  attained  a  field  which  had  hitherto  been 
little  touched;  he  created  a  philosophy  of  history.  He  could 
rightly  speak  of  a  new  science  when  in  his  chief  work  he  in- 
vestigated the  common  nature  of  nations,  and  from  it  un- 
folded fundamental  forms  in  which  all  human  history  moves. 


APPENDICES  593 

He  draws  the  outline  of  an  "eternal  ideal  history,"  according 
to  which  "in  time  the  history  of  all  nations  runs  its  course, 
in  origin,  progress,  bloom,  decay,  and  end."  That  he  re- 
gards as  implanted  in  all  nations  a  common  sentiment  for 
the  true,  and  the  same  scale  of  movement — destroys  the  usual 
derivation  of  the  many  from  a  single  primitive  people,  and 
renders  intelligible  an  agreement  without  any  external  con- 
nection, which  strengthens  the  significance  of  social  relation- 
ship and  makes  visible  in  great  spiritual  results,  not  so  much 
the  performances  of  individuals  as  manifestations  of  peculiar 
social  conditions.  This  leads  Vico,  for  example,  to  deny  the 
historical  existence  of  Homer.  The  latter  is  regarded  by  him 
as  a  "heroic  character  of  the  Greeks  in  so  far  as  in  the  role  of 
singers  they  recounted  their  stories."  In  this  way  is  origi- 
nated a  certain  psychology  of  nations,  and  with  special  fond- 
ness language  is  treated  as  an  expression  of  the  spiritual 
condition  of  nations.  It  affords  a  knowledge  of  the  early  cir- 
cumstances of  mankind  which  are  otherwise  inaccessible,  a 
thought  which  Leibniz  also  had  proclaimed.  By  reason  of 
his  faith  in  the  nature  common  to  all  nations,  Vico  speaks  of  a 
"spiritual  dictionary"  which  shall  be  common  to  all  languages. 
Vico  does  not  rest  satisfied  with  the  general  thought  of  a  Rea- 
son immanent  in  all  men.  He  seeks  the  evidence  of  this  Reason 
in  determinate  institutions  which  are  immemorially  common 
to  all  nations.  He  finds  these  in  religion,  marriage,  and  the 
burial  of  the  dead.  Vice's  division  of  history  into  a  divine,  a 
heroic,  and  a  human  epoch  is  hardly  new,  but  the  old  thought 
acts  with  new  power  as  he  applies  it  with  great  force  to  every 
department  of  life — the  constitution  of  the  state,  law,  lan- 
guage, etc.  Further  still,  Vico  makes  a  certain  scheme  per- 
vade the  inner  life  of  nations:  "The  nature  of  nations  is  at 
first  raw,  then  stern,  then  mild,  afterward  effeminate,  lastly 
dissolute."  As  this  course  may  be  repeated  in  history,  Vico 
can  speak  of  a  recurrence  of  human  affairs  and  of  a  resur- 
rection of  nations,  while  he  fails  to  consider  the  ascent  of 
man  collectively. 


594  APPENDICES 

Vico  brought  together  for  the  elaboration  of  his  ideas  an 
immense  amount  of  material,  and  even  if  the  critical  survey 
leaves  much  to  be  desired,  nevertheless  an  abundance  of  fruit- 
ful suggestions  has  proceeded  thence,  and  the  whole  is  capable 
of  producing  a  powerful  effect,  as  indeed  it  has  done  by  the 
force  of  his  conviction  as  well  as  by  the  decisiveness  of  his 
ideas.  Never  before  were  human  affairs  to  such  an  extent 
understood  from  their  historical  genesis  as  by  this  man,  who 
could  say:  " Nature  of  things  means  nothing  except  their 
origin  at  certain  times  and  in  certain  ways  by  reason  of  which, 
since  they  are  as  they  are,  the  things  have  their  origin  so  and 
not  otherwise." 

Italy,  according  to  Vico,  has  not  been  lacking  in  active 
philosophical  life;  rather  has  this  great  civilised  nation  ac- 
companied all  the  movements  of  European  progress  with 
zealous  sympathy  and  furthered  many  undertakings  on  its 
own  account.  Thus,  however  many  able  and  sympathetic 
personalities  made  their  appearance — it  is  sufficient  to  recall 
men  like  Rasmini  and  Gioberti — the  proper  performance  de- 
mands less  new  ways  than  it  does  syntheses  of  regions  of 
thought  already  acquired.  With  these  appear  important 
traits  of  value  to  mankind  as  a  whole.  Thus  it  is  sought, 
without  an  abrupt  breach  with  the  past,  to  bring  religion 
nearer  to  modern  life  and  to  the  inner  nature  of  the  soul; 
therewith  a  wonderful  simplicity  of  expression  is  often  at- 
tained. So  the  beautiful,  according  to  content  and  form, 
gains  more  force  and  clearness  than  is  the  case  with  other 
nations;  here,  in  a  direction  always  new,  appears  the  spirit  of 
the  Renaissance.  But  with  all  appreciation  of  this,  we  are 
disposed  to  think  that  the  nation  of  Dante,  of  Leonardo,  of 
Galileo  has  not  yet  spoken  its  last  word  in  philosophy,  that 
in  the  future  it  will  express  its  spiritual  nature  with  still 
greater  emphasis. 


APPENDICES  595 


APPENDIX  N 

Shaftesbury  (1671-1713),  the  Greek  mind  among  the  Eng- 
lish thinkers,  passes  farthest  beyond  the  separating  line. 
The  Renaissance,  especially  the  influence  of  Giordano  Bruno, 
had  a  powerful  effect  upon  him,  but  the  illumination  mitigated 
its  violence  and  directed  its  force  more  to  what  was  simply 
human.  The  whole  result  of  this  still  had  power  to  attract 
by  its  freshness  and  its  warmth,  its  noble  way  of  thinking,  and 
its  sense  of  beauty.  Shaftesbury's  work  as  a  thinker  was 
polemical  in  two  different  directions;  it  rejected  decidedly 
materialism,  sensualism,  and  hedonism,  as  well  as  a  religion 
filled  with  the  thought  of  the  beyond,  and  above  all  bringing 
to  view  the  contrasts  of  existence.  An  aesthetic  enthusiasm 
made  him  the  adherent  of  a  pantheism  which  seeks  the  di- 
vine within  the  world,  and  interprets  it  as  the  living,  disposing, 
ordering  power,  which  penetrates  all  reality.  He  declares  it 
to  be  an  error  to  seek  to  convert  men  to  belief  in  a  better 
world  by  presenting  the  present  world  as  evil.  Goodness  and 
beauty,  above  all  the  order  and  the  symmetry  which  pervade 
all  things  and  are  indeed  implanted  in  our  own  souls,  lead  us 
in  reality  to  the  recognition  of  supreme  wisdom.  As  in  his 
estimation  God's  chief  quality  is  not  power  but  goodness,  he 
requires  in  religion  a  turning  away  from  the  usual  depressed 
and  miserable  to  a  joyful  and  courageous  temper;  this  should 
bring  to  man  not  intimidation  and  slavish  sentiment,  but 
energy  and  independence.  He  finds  a  living  presence  of  God 
in  the  human  soul;  but  in  Nature  as  a  whole  he  sees  life  and 
beauty  poured  forth  in  richest  abundance,  and  even  by  its 
contrasts  joined  in  a  unity  throughout  all  its  variety.  So  he 
composes  inspired  hymns  upon  Nature,  sees  in  the  sun  a 
splendid  image  of  Almighty  God,  and  portrays  with  charm  and 
with  warmth  the  impression  of  natural  surroundings  on  the 
human  mind.  As  unspoiled  Nature  attracts  him  by  its  soli- 
tude, the  majesty  of  the  mountain  and  the  silence  of  the  val- 


596  APPENDICES 

ley — in  general,  a  beauty  which  awakes  a  kind  of  melancholy — 
he  becomes  a  forerunner  of  Rousseau  and  his  romantic  feel- 
ing for  Nature. 

But  for  human  life,  the  chief  concern  is  inner  self-depend- 
ence, cultivation  of  one's  own  happiness,  acting  not  for  a  re- 
ward but  from  a  delight  in  what  is  noble.  In  such  action 
man  should  feel  himself  far  superior  to  all  striving  after  mere 
pleasure:  "What  satisfies  our  mind  and  is  agreeable  to  rea- 
son and  understanding  should  not  be  called  pleasure."  It  is 
important  to  bring  the  soul  of  man  into  inner  harmony,  sub- 
ordinating selfish  to  social  inclination,  and  making  kindness 
of  heart,  the  welfare  of  the  human  race,  one's  proper  concern. 
The  thought  of  reward  in  consequence  of  an  action  is  remote 
from  this;  all  genuine  action,  being  noble  and  harmonious, 
brings  with  it  its  own  joy  and  satisfaction.  All  things  taken 
together  produce  a  type  of  life  which  stands  in  decided  con- 
trast to  ecclesiastical  Christianity,  without  at  the  same  time 
surrendering  an  ideal  and  religious  character.  The  immanent 
idealism  of  our  German  classical  authors,  the  view  of  the  world 
taken  by  a  Herder  or  a  Goethe,  is  here  already  traced  in  its 
essential  outlines.  Thus  Shaftesbury  forms  an  important  con- 
necting link  between  the  Renaissance  and  the  highest  point 
of  German  spiritual  life. 

APPENDIX  0 

Hume  (1711-76)  is  a  thinker  of  a  thoroughly  independent 
kind.  He  penetrated  deeply  into  the  spiritual  movement, 
and  called  into  life  problems  which  even  to-day  are  not  an- 
tiquated. His  work  changed  essentially  the  psychical  life 
of  man  as  well  as  man's  place  in  relation  to  the  world;  there 
the  centre  of  gravity  is  transferred  from  the  understanding 
to  sensibility,  natural  impulse,  and  feeling.  It  is  likewise 
made  clear  that  the  relation  of  subject  and  object  is  to  be 
comprehended  differently  from  what  had  hitherto  been  the 
case,  and  that,  at  important  points,  what  appeared  to  come  to 


APPENDICES  597 

us  from  without  as  a  quality  of  tilings  was  really  a  creation 
of  our  own  soul,  a  product  of  psychical  mechanism.  Hume 
here  begins  already  that  transformation  of  object  to  subject, 
so  momentous  for  life  and  for  the  view  of  the  world,  which 
Kant  soon  carried  out  in  grander  style.  It  was  not  Kant, 
however,  but  Hume  who  accomplished  that  revolution  which 
Kant  later  compared  to  the  work  of  Copernicus.  Only  the 
latter  makes  out  of  the  subject  something  essentially  different 
from  that  of  the  former,  and  thereby  reaches  a  widely  diver- 
gent world  of  thought. 

APPENDIX  P 

Such  a  conception,  however,  leaves  moral  action  in  a  sub- 
ordinate place.  For  Hegel,  it  is  always  only  an  accident  of 
the  individual,  something  private  and  subjective,  not  the 
source  of  a  peculiar  regimen  nor  the  fundamental  condition  of 
spiritual  productiveness.  Consequently  he  cannot  for  this 
reason  give  full  independence  to  life  nor  indeed  appreciate 
adequately  the  sphere  of  Kant's  practical  reason.  In  general, 
it  is  difficult  for  Hegel  to  transfer  himself  impartially  into  the 
world  of  thought  of  others;  he  forces  rather  everything  into 
his  own  conceptions  with  dictatorial  abruptness,  and  judges  it 
according  to  the  setting  which  it  thus  receives.  Such  ex- 
clusiveness  has  often  made  him  unjust,  for  example,  to  Fries; 
it  has  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  effect  of  his  thoughts. 

APPENDIX  Q 

With  respect  to  the  French  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  the  attention  of  other  nations  is  often  confined  ex- 
clusively to  Positivism;  other  movements  which  are  by  no 
means  insignificant  are  mistakenly  overlooked.  If  the  sen- 
sualism and  materialism  of  the  eighteenth  century  still  had 
their  effects,  they  were  sharply  contradicted  by  the  re- 
ligious philosophy  of  the  Church  which  proceeded  from 


598  APPENDICES 

the  impressions  left  by  the  Revolution  and  Restoration,  on 
the  one  hand  in  the  strict,  gloomy,  rigid  thought  of  de 
Maistre,  on  the  other  hand  turning  to  a  democratic,  fresher 
and  more  cheerful  form  with  Lamennais.  A  further  move- 
ment appears  in  the  eclectic-spiritualist  school  which,  while 
preserving  its  independence  of  ecclesiastical  doctrine,  falls  back 
upon  the  Cartesian  idealism,  makes  psychological  reflection 
its  point  of  departure,  and  brings  historico-philosophical  in- 
quiry in  France  to  richer  development.  This  philosophy  re- 
mains pre-eminently  a  philosophy  of  scholars,  and  exercises 
no  strong  influence  upon  life  as  a  whole;  but  it  makes  many 
valuable  suggestions,  and  it  works  zealously  for  an  adjust- 
ment of  the  contradictions  of  modern  life.  The  atmosphere 
thus  created  surrounds  not  a  few  able,  broad-minded,  spiritual 
personalities;  moreover,  it  may  here  be  observed  that  at  this 
point  French  philosophy  entered  into  closer  relationship  with 
German  spiritual  life.  Yet,  as  a  whole,  it  fell  undeniably  far 
short  of  Positivism  in  moving  power  and  historical  signifi- 
cance. By  it  France,  during  the  course  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  affected  the  whole  field  of  culture;  so  it  has  especially 
to  engage  our  attention. 

APPENDIX  R 

Society  here  appears  not  as  in  the  ancient  theory  of  State 
governed  throughout  by  a  dominating  unity;  yet  neither  is 
it,  as  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Illumination,  a  mere  juxtaposition 
of  individuals;  but  the  individuals  find  themselves  through- 
out in  mutual  relations;  they  form  a  fabric  which  the  progress 
of  culture,  and  especially  the  modern  character  of  labour,  is 
always  shaping  more  firmly  and  finely. 

APPENDIX  S 

In  England,  as  in  no  other  country,  Positivism  found  the 
ground  prepared  for  it.  On  the  theoretical  side  empiricism 
worked  in  its  favour,  especially  in  the  keen  exposition  of 


APPENDICES  599 

Hume;  in  the  practical  field  the  Utilitarianism  of  Bentham 
represents  a  kindred  way  of  thinking.  The  old  Epicureanism 
which  gave  value  only  to  pleasure  and  utility  is  here  trans- 
formed into  a  social  theory,  and  thereby  it  is  sought  to  ennoble 
it.  The  greatest  possible  happiness-^-that  is,  social  welfare 
of  the  greatest  number — is  made  the  object.  All  conditions 
of  social  existence  are  tested  by  this — how  much  pleasure  and 
pain  they  afford.  In  an  able  and  skilful  execution  of  this 
endeavour,  much  has  been  called  into  life  for  the  common 
welfare,  and  much  harshness  has  been  banished;  especially  has 
the  penal  code,  as  a  result  of  this,  been  radically  humanised 
(mild  punishments,  preventive  legislation,  etc.).  But  at  the 
same  time  man  is  limited  strictly  to  the  circle  of  experience. 
Whatever  goes  beyond  this  is  regarded  as  dangerous  fiction. 
All  action  is  judged,  absolutely,  not  according  to  any  inward 
value  which  is  here  considered  unintelligible,  but  according  to 
its  useful  or  harmful  consequences. 

APPENDIX  T 

A  materialistic  naturalism  prevails  in  the  monism  of  the 
present;  yet  it  is  equally  unmistakable  that  ways  of  thinking 
of  a  broader  kind  seek  a  connection  with  this  from  the  fol- 
lowers of  a  Spinoza  and  of  a  Goethe.  Monism  embraces 
within  itself  two  tendencies  and  requirements  of  the  time, 
whose  right  it  is  difficult  to  dispute;  the  demand  that  Nature 
in  shaping  life  and  natural  science  in  viewing  the  world  should 
acquire  more  influence  than  hitherto,  and  the  demand  for  a 
manner  of  life  more  universal  than  the  ecclesiastical  form  of 
religion  insures.  It  has  already  been  mentioned  that  Nature 
gained  recognition  only  slowly  according  to  its  principal  sig- 
nificance; it  is  moreover  apparent  that  much  still  remains  to 
be  done.  Natural  science,  however,  cannot  meet  with  proper 
recognition  without  on  many  points  coming  into  irrecon- 
cilable collision  with  ecclesiastical  dogma,  many  of  whose 
modes  of  thought  are  derived  from  the  older  representation 


600  APPENDICES 

of  Nature — one  has  only  to  recall  the  doctrine  of  the  Ascen- 
sion. But  even  beyond  these  points  of  sharp  collision,  the 
feeling  of  a  limitation  of  life,  by  means  of  the  accepted  world 
of  religious  thought,  pervades  wide  circles — the  demand  for 
a  universal  arrangement  of  life  which  brings  all  individual 
fields  to  proportionate  development;  such  an  order  religion 
need  not  reject,  but  it  will  have  it  confirmed  by  life  as  a 
whole  and  formed  by  this. 

Movements  of  this  kind  encourage  monism,  and  give  it  in 
time  a  not  inconsiderable  power.  But  as  surely  as  monism 
represents  important  problems,  so  it  is  safe  and  strong  hi  its 
achievement  only  so  long  as  it  is  confined  to  criticism  and 
negation;  the  inclination  to  positive  assertion  shows  it  to 
be  weak,  uncertain,  full  of  contradiction.  As  "monism,"  to 
separate  itself  from  materialism  and  guard  against  being  con- 
founded with  it,  it  would  be  justified  only  if  it  recognised 
equally  natural  and  spiritual  life  hi  their  peculiarity,  and 
brought  them  into  perfect  equilibrium;  but  it  by  no  means 
does  this.  For  it  unthinkingly  promotes  natural  conceptions 
to  universal  conceptions,  and  it  would,  moreover,  shape  all 
life  according  to  its  standards,  and  would  like  to  explain  from 
without  all  that  takes  place  within  us:  that  we  do  not 
comprehend  nature  immediately  in  itself,  but  by  means  of  our 
spiritual  organisation  find  simply  a  way  to  it,  and  trace  out 
a  picture  of  it;  also  that  the  world- wide  historical  labour  of 
mankind  has  unfolded  a  spiritual  life,  rich  in  content,  and 
with  many  ramifications.  Fields  like  those  of  law,  of  morals, 
of  art,  etc.,  monism  takes  no  account  of  at  all,  or  only  inci- 
dentally. Such  an  elevation  of  the  sensible  world  to  a  single 
and  absolute  world  furnishes  "by  no  means  a  monism  in  the 
sense  of  Goethe,  but  only  a  shamefaced  monism. 

In  its  application  to  practical  life,  however,  this  material- 
ism threatens  to  fall  into  crude  dualism.  For  by  its  concep- 
tion of  this  life  it  shows  a  thoroughly  idealistic  mode  of  think- 
ing; it  holds  fast  to  the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful;  it 
maintains  the  greatness  and  worth  of  man,  and  hopes  for  an 


APPENDICES  601 

improvement  of  humanity  by  increasing  enlightenment.  Are 
not  all  these  conceptions  which  spring  from  spiritual  life  and 
become  inevitably  transient  when  degraded  to  a  mere  epi- 
phenomenon  of  natural  process?  And  can  there  be  a  dualism 
cruder  than  when  opposite  convictions  control  the  represen- 
tation of  the  world  and  the  shaping  of  life,  if  with  equal  em- 
phasis is  denied  there  what  is  affirmed  here. 

Thus  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  modern  monism  meets 
not  only  with  much  sympathy  but  also  with  much  contradic- 
tion, and  for  this  reason — because  it  likes,  self-consciously,  to 
present  its  solution  of  the  problem  of  life  and  of  the  world, 
which  is  nearly  related  to  the  later  Illumination,  as  the  only 
possible  one — as  the  only  one  intelligible  for  any  impartial 
mind.  Yet  whoever  finds  the  solution  here  offered  to  be  in- 
adequate, should  not  fail  to  see  that  problems  are  here  dealt 
with  which  urgently  require  solution. 


INDEXES 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


Abelard,  250  jf. 
Albert  the  Great,  253. 
Anselm  of  Canterbury,  250. 
Aristotle,  44  jf. 
Augustine,  211  jf. 
Averroes,  252. 

Bacon,  336  jf. 
Bayle,  360  jf. 
Bentham,  Appendix  S. 
Boethius,  248. 
Bruno,  325  jf. 

Calvin,  293  jf. 

Carlyle,  557. 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  191  jf. 

Comte,  524jf. 

Condillac,  416. 

Dante,  258  jf. 

Darwin,  536  jf. 

De  Maistre,  Appendix  Q. 

Descartes,  351  jf. 

Diderot,  416. 

Dionysius  the  Areopagite.,  £49. 

Duns  Scotus,  264  jf. 

Eckhart,  260  jf. 
Emerson,  557. 
Epicurus,  81  jf. 

Fichte,  486  jf. 

GalileOj  350. 

Goethe,  464  jf. 

Gregory  of  Nyssa,  199  jf. 

Hegel,  494  jf. 
Helvetius,  416. 
Herder,  434. 
Hobbes,  359  jf. 
Hume,  420  jf. 


Jesus, 


Kant,  435  jf. 
Kepler,  350  jf. 

Lamennais,  Appendix  Q. 
Leibniz,  388  jf. 
Lessing,  418  jf. 
Locke,  380  jf. 
Lucretius,  81. 
Luther,  273  jf. 

Marcus  Aurelius,  93  jf. 
Melanchthon,  273  jf. 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  533 /. 
Montaigne,  33 if. 

Newman,  555. 

Nicholas  of  Cusa,  321  jf.   / 

Nietzsche,  560  jf. 

Origen,  193  jf. 

Pascal,  360. 
Pestalozzi,  459. 
Philo  Judaeus,  100  jf. 
Plato,  16  jf. 
Plotinus,  102  jf. 
Plutarch,  97  jf. 
Posidonius,  Appendix  C. 

Quetelet,  533. 

Romanticists  (German)  477  jf. 
Rousseau,  423  jf. 

Schelling,  490  jf. 
Schiller,  474  jf. 
Schleiermacher,  507  jf. 
Schopenhauer,  510  jf. 
Scotus  Erigena,  249. 
Shaftesbury,  408  jf. 
Siger,  253. 

Smith,  Adam,  409  jf. 
Social  Democrats,  542  jf 


605 


606                         INDEX  OF  NAMES 

Socrates,  15  /.  Vico,  Appendix  M. 

Sop.1  ists,  i3/.  Voltaire,  416. 
Spencer,  535. 

Spinoza,  362 /.  William  of  Occam,  266. 

Stoics,  86 /.  Wolf,  F.  A.,  459 /. 

Wolff,  Ch.,  417. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  254  jf. 

Thomas  a  Kempis,  266/1  Zwingli,  ago/. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


jEstheticism,  as  affecting  man's  view 
of  the  universe  and  his  mode  of  life: 
Renaissance,  314;  the  Romantic 
Movement,  478;  Schelling,  491  ff.; 
modern  Subjectivism,  559. 

Affections  (Feelings),  their  value  and 
treatment:  Plato,  27,  30;  Aristotle, 
55;  Stoics,  89;  early  Christianity, 
184;  Clement,  191;  Spinoza,  367  ff.; 
Hume,  421. 

Allegorical  Interpretation:  Philo,  102; 
Plotinus,  119;  Origen,  198;  rejected 
by  Luther,  280. 

Apathy:  Stoics,  89;  Clement,  191; 
Gregory  of  Nyssa,  202. 

Archimedes,  Fulcrum  of:  Descartes, 
352;  Kant,  447. 

Art,  its  nature  and  value:  Plato,  40  ff.; 
Aristotle.  67  ff.;  Plotinus,  114; 
Augustine,  226;  Renaissance,  314^".; 
Bacon,  343;  Rousseau,  430;  Ger- 
man Humanism,  458  ff.;  Goethe, 
^Ti  ff.;  Romantic  Movement,  478; 
Schelling,  491  /.;  Hegel,  501  /.; 
Schopenhauer,  514  ft.;  modern  Re- 
alism, 523;  Comte,  530;  modern 
Subjectivism,  559^". 

Asceticism:  late  Antiquity,  97;  Plo- 
tinus, in;  Origen,  196;  Latins, 
209;  Augustine,  236. 

Astronomy,  its  influence  on  man's  view 
of  the  universe:  Greece,  n;  Plato, 
23»  34J  Aristotle,  49;  Bruno,  326-7; 
Leibniz,  402. 

Beautiful  Soul:  Rousseau,  427. 

Beauty,  its  nature  and  value:  Plato, 
22  ff.;  Aristotle,  67;  Plotinus,  113; 
Gregory  of  Nyssa,  201;  Augustine, 
22$  ff.;  Renaissance,  314^".;  Kant, 
451  ff.;  German  Humanism,  458; 
Goethe,  47  iff.;  Schiller,  475;  Ro- 
mantic Movement,  478  ff.;  Schel- 


ling, 491^".;  Hegel,  501;   Schopen- 
hauer, 514;   modern  Idealism,  556; 
modern  Subjectivism,  559. 
Bravery,  as  supreme  virtue:  Stoicism, 
90;  early  Christianity,  184. 

Catholicism,  two  tendencies  of:  295  ff. 

Chance,  belief  in,  Hellenistic  Period, 
78;  denied:  Augustine,  228. 

Character:  Kant,  446;  Delineation  of 
Character:  Aristotelian  School,  62. 

Child,  Childlikeness,  its  importance 
first  revealed  by  Jesus,  154,  157. 

Christianity,  conception  of  its  essence: 
Plotinus,  119;  early  Christianity, 
i&iff.;  Origen,  193,  197;  Augus- 
tine, 233;  Dionysius,  249;  Abelard, 
251;  Luther,  275;  Melanchthon, 
276;  Zwingli,  291;  Calvin,  293; 
Spinoza,  374;  Leibniz,  401;  Rous- 
seau, 429;  Hegel,  501. 

Church  and  State,  their  relation: 
early  Christianity,  189;  Augustine, 
240  ff.;  Thomas  Aquinas,  257. 

Church  System,  its  development: 
Latins,  205;  Augustine,  236  ff.; 
Dionysius,  249;  Thomas  Aquinas, 

257- 

Class  distinctions:  Plato,  38;  Renais- 
sance, 317. 

Coincidence  of  Oppositions  in  the  In- 
finite: Plotinus,  117;  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  326;  Bruno,  328. 

Commonwealth,  its  full  development: 
Renaissance,  317. 

Compassion,  deprecated :  Stoicism, 
89;  Spinoza,  370;  supreme  virtue: 
Schopenhauer,  515  ff. 

Conscience,  scientific  analysis  of:  Sto- 
icism, 90;  deeper  view  of:  Kant, 

444/- 

Consciousness,  how  conceived  by: 
Stoicism,  91;  Plotinus,  109,  112; 


607 


6o8 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Descartes,  355  ff.\  Locke,  382; 
Supra-conscious:  Plotinus,  109, 
112;  Bruno,  327;  Subconscious: 
Plotinus,  109,  112;  Leibniz,  396; 
Romantic  Movement,  479;  Schel- 
ling,  492. 

Contemplation,  as  emancipating 
power:  Spinoza,  370;  Goethe, 
466;  Schopenhauer,  514. 

Contradiction,  as  motive-force:  Hegel, 
496 /.;  Marx,  546. 

Cosmopolitanism:  Hellenistic  period, 
77;  Stoicism,  91;  German  Human- 
ism, 460. 

Creation  (spiritual),  origin  of  this  idea: 
Plato,  22. 

Culture,  different  interpretations  of: 
Bacon,  343;  Fichte,  487;  attacked: 
Stoicism,  90;  Montaigne,  332  ff.; 
Rousseau,  426  ff.;  distinguished 
from  civilisation:  German  Human- 
ism, 459. 

Cultured  society,  its  exclusiveness: 
Hellenistic  Period,  78;  Renaissance, 
317;  German  Humanism,  462. 

"Cunning"  of  the  Ideas:   Hegel,  498. 

Death,  attitude  of  philosophy  towards: 
Plato,  26,  36;  Aristotle,  47,  52;  Ep- 
icurus, 82;  Stoicism,  89;  Nicholas 
of  Cusa,  324;  Giordano  Bruno,  328? 
Spinoza,  372;  Kant,  440,  448; 
German  Humanism,  463. 

Dialectic;  Plato,  42;  Kant,  440  /.; 
Hegel,  496^".;  Schleiermacher,  508. 

Doctrine  of  development:  Augustine, 
227;  Nicholas  of  Cusa,  323;  Bruno, 
328;  Leibniz,  397-8;  German  con- 
structive systems,  485;  Schelling, 
491;  Hegel,  496  ff.,  501;  Comte, 
526  ff.;  Spencer,  535;  Darwinism, 
539 /•;  its  stages,  538. 

Double  Criterion  of  Truth:  Averroes, 
253;  Siger,  253. 

Double  Morality:  Stoics,  93;  Origen, 
196^".;  early  church,  209;  Augus- 
tine, 235  ff.-,  Rejected:  Eckhart, 
263;  Luther,  277. 

Doubt,  in  Religion:  Augustine,  237; 
Abelard,  251;  Luther,  279;  in 
regard  to  the  world:  Descartes, 


Economic  Systems:  Aristotle,  63  ff.; 
A.  Smith,  410^".;  Comte,  529^".: 
Social  Democracy,  543^. 

Economic  type  of  life:  A.  Smith, 
410  ff.;  Social  Democracy,  543. 

Education,  nature  and  task  of: 
Plato,  24,  32;  Aristotle,  50  ff.;  Mon- 
taigne, 335;  Bacon,  344;  Locke, 
386;  Helvetius,  416;  Rousseau, 
428;  German  Humanism,  459-60; 
Schopenhauer,  513. 

Evil,  its  origin  and  nature:  Plato,  16, 
26  ff.;  Aristotle,  48;  Stoicism,  88; 
late  Antiquity,  98;  Plotinus,  117; 
Christianity,  136  ff.;  early  Chris- 
tianity, 180;  Origen,  195;  Augus- 
tine, 228  ff.;  Leibniz,  402;  Kant, 
450;  Schopenhauer, 


Faith,  its  nature  and  its  relation  to 
reason:  Jesus,  154;  early  Chris- 
tianity, 177;  Clement,  191;  Augus- 
tine, 237;  Abelard,  251;  Thomas 
Aquinas,  255^".;  Duns  Scotus,  265; 
William  of  Occam,  266;  Luther, 
276;  Leibniz,  401;  Kant,  448; 
Goethe,  473;  Schiller,  476;  Hegel, 

495  1- 
Fate,  attitude  toward:    Plato,  26,  27; 

Aristotle,  54;  Hellenistic  Period,  78; 
Epicurus,  82;  Stoicism,  87;  Re- 
naissance, 320;  Spinoza,  379;  Goe- 
the, 467,  469. 

Feeling,  as  basis  of  religion:  Pascal, 
360;  Rousseau,  429;  Storm-and- 
Stress  Period,  433;  Schleiermacher, 
509;  depreciated  by  Hegel,  501. 

Form,  appreciation  of:  Plato,  20  ff.; 
Aristotle,  47  ff.;  Renaissance,  309, 
314;  Kant,  437  /.,  444;  German 
Humanism,  458^".;  depreciation  of: 
early  Christianity,  185;  Augustine, 
226;  Bacon,  343. 

Freedom  of  the  will,  defended  or  re- 
jected: Plato,  24,  32;  Epicureans, 
82;  Stoics,  87^".;  Plotinus,  in,  117; 
early  Christianity,  180,  183;  Ori- 
gen, 195;  Augustine,  231,  233; 
Duns  Scotus,  264;  Spinoza,  367; 
Leibniz,  401;  Kant,  446;  Goethe, 
469,  474;  Schiller,  475;  Fichte, 
.:  Schopenhauer,  513. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


609 


Free  trade:   A.  Smith,  412. 

Friendship,  appreciation  of:  Aristotle, 
62;  Epicurus,  84;  Montaigne,  335; 
German  Humanism,  462;  depre- 
ciation of:  Thomas  a  Kempis,  267. 

Genius:  Storm-and-Stress  Period,  433; 
Romantic  Movement,  479;  Schel- 
ling,  492;  Schopenhauer,  514. 

God,  idea  of.  Its  meaning:  Plato, 
36^".;  Aristotle,  47;  later  Antiquity, 
98;  Plotinus,  115^".;  Christianity, 
*34  ff-\  early  Christianity,  178  ff.; 
Origen,  193  ff.;  Gregory  of  Nyssa, 
201  ff.;  Augustine,  216  ff.;  Eck- 
hart,  260  ff.;  Luther,  285;  Zwingli, 
291  ff.;  Calvin,  293;  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  322;  Bruno,  326;  Spinoza, 
363-4,  373;  Kant,  448;  Goethe, 
468;  Fichte,  488. 

Good  and  Beautiful,  their  union: 
Plato,  23  ff.;  Shaftesbury,  408; 
Goethe,  473;  Schiller,  475. 

Gradations  of  being:  Plato,  29;  Plo- 
tinus, io6ff.;  Augustine,  228;  Dio- 
nysius,  249;  Thomas  Aquinas,  256, 
Nicholas  of  Cusa,  322  ff.;  Leibniz; 


Happiness,  in  attainment:  Plotinus, 
113;  Augustine,  211;  in  pursuit: 
Nicholas  of  Cusa,  324;  Leibniz, 

397  ff;  4°4- 
Happiness  and  virtue,  their  relation: 

Plato,  25;   Aristotle,  51;   Epicurus, 

83;   Stoics,  91;   Plotinus,  113;  early 

Christianity,    180;     Spinoza,    372; 

Kant,  444,  448. 
Hero,    a    manifestation    of   Divinity: 

Stoicism,  90. 
Heroism  (greatness):  Aristotle,  57  ff.; 

Stoicism,    90;      Christianity,     149; 

early  Christianity,  184;  Bruno,  327; 

Schiller,   476;    Fichte,   487;   Hegel, 

498;   Carlyle,  557. 
Hierarchy:   Plato,  29;    Plotinus,  108; 

Dionysius,  249;    Thomas  Aquinas, 

257- 

Historical  basis  of  faith  disputed: 
Spinoza,  374;  Lessing,  418;  Fichte, 
489. 


Historicity:  Romantic  Movement, 
482;  Schelling,  492. 

History  (its  content  and  value) :  Plato, 
34;  Aristotle,  60;  Plotinus,  107; 
Christianity,  143  ff.;  early  Chris- 
tianity, 179;  Clement,  193;  Origen, 
194;  Augustine,  234;  Montaigne, 
333;  Bacon,  337,  342;  Descartes, 
354;  Locke,  386;  Leibniz>  398; 
French  Enlightenment,  415;  Les- 
sing, 418;  Goethe,  467,  470;  Ro- 
mantic Movement,  482;  Fichte,  489; 
Schelling,  492;  Hegel,  495/-»  S°5l-> 
Schleiermacher,  509;  Schopenhauer, 
513;  modern  Realism,  521;  Comte, 
525^.;  Darwinism,  539^.;  Social 
Democracy,  543  ff.;  modern  Ideal- 
ism, 555. 

Humanity,  first  accepted  as  a  principle 
by  the  Stoics,  91. 

Humanity  as  an  Ideal:  Stoicism,  91  ff.; 
Rousseau,  428;  Herder,  434;  Kant, 
446;  German  Humanism,  458  ff.; 
Schiller,  476;  Comte,  530. 

Ideas  and  Idealism:  Plato,  19  ff.; 
Philo,  100;  Plotinus,  no;  Origen, 
195;  Kant,  446  ff.;  Hegel,  497; 
Schopenhauer,  514;  Modern  Peri- 
od, 554. 

Ideas  in  History:  Hegel,  497. 

Immortality  (doctrine  of):  Plato,  31; 
Aristotle,  47;  Epicurus,  82;  Stoi- 
cism, 89^".;  Plotinus,  in;  early 
Christianity,  186;  Augustine,  235; 
Bruno,  328;  Spinoza,  371-2;  Leib- 
niz, 396;  Kant,  440,  448;  German 
Humanism,  463;  Hegel,  496  ff.; 
Comte,  530. 

Immutability  of  natural  laws:  Spi- 
noza, 374. 

Individuality,  separateness  of  the  in- 
dividual being:  Hellenistic  Period, 
79;  Plotinus,  no;  Duns  Scotus, 
265;  Renaissance,  311  ff.,  317; 
Nicholas  of  Cusa,  323;  Bruno,  328; 
Leibniz,  397  ff.;  Lessing,  418; 
German  Humanism,  461  ff.;  Goe- 
the, 469;  Schleiermacher,  510; 
modern  Idealism,  557;  modern 
Subjectivism,  559;  Nietzsche,  561. 

Infinitesimal:   Leibniz,  391. 


6io 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Infinity  of  Being:  Plotinus,  117;  Greg- 
ory of  Nyssa,  201;  Nicholas  of  Cusa, 
333;  Bruno,  326. 

Innate  Ideas:  Plato,  32;  Enlighten- 
ment, 348;  Descartes,  357;  Leib- 
niz, 396;  rejected  by  Aristotle,  50; 
Locke,  382. 

Intuition  of  God:  Late  Antiquity,  99; 
Plotinus,  115;  Jesus,  154;  Clement, 
191;  Origen,  196;  Gregory  of  Nys- 
sa, 201;  Augustine,  218;  Thomas 
Aquinas,  255;  Eckhart.  260;  Spi- 
noza, 370. 

Jesus,  character  and  significance  of: 
early  Christianity,  181;  Origen, 
197;  Augustine,  234;  Abelard,  251; 
Eckhart,  263;  Thomas  a  Kempis, 
267;  Luther,  275;  Zwingli,  291;  Spi- 
noza, 374;  Rousseau,  429. 

Judgment  after  Death:  Plato,  36. 

Justice,  its  nature:  Plato.  25;  Funda- 
mental social  virtue:  Kant,  449. 

Knowledge  as  Power:  Bacon,  340. 

Knowledge  as  reconciliation  with  Re- 
ality: Aristotle,  46;  Plotinus,  117; 
Bruno,  329;  Descartes,  358;  Spino- 
za, 370;  Leibniz,  404;  Hegel,  496  ff. 

Knowledge  as  the  soul  of  life:  Plato, 
20^".;  Plotinus,  109  ff.;  Clement, 
191  ff.;  Origen,  196;  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  324  ff.;  Spinoza,  370  ff.; 
Leibniz,  400;  Hegel,  495  /.; 
Comte,  529. 

Labour  (work),  essence  of  modern  la- 
bour, 520. 

Labour  (division  of).  Its  significance: 
A.  Smith,  410;  Comte,  530. 

Laissez  faire:  Montaigne,  335;  Rous- 
seau, 428. 

Lay-circle,  formation  of:  Renaissance, 

309- 

Legend,  poetry  of:  Romantic  Move- 
ment, 479. 

Leisure,  in  the  ancient  sense:  Plo- 
tinus, 117. 

Liberalism,  its  roots  in  Locke's  phi- 
losophy, 384. 

Life,  as  enjoyment:  Epicurus,  83; 
Montaigne,  335;  as  struggle:  Sto- 


icism, 89;  early  Christianity,  184, 
188;  Kant,  447  ff.;  as  art:  Aristo- 
tle, 56;  Renaissance,  314^.;  Ger- 
man Humanism,  458;  Goethe, 

473- 

Love:  Plato,  29^".;  Hellenistic  Period, 
79;  Christianity,  142  ff.;  Jesus, 
158  ff.;  Augustine,  240;  Eckhart, 
261;  Thomas  a  Kempis,  268;  Spi- 
noza, 368^.,  371;  Goethe,  468;  He- 
gel, 499. 

Magical  view  of  Nature:  Plotinus, 
1 1 a;  Renaissance,  316;  demolished: 
Enlightenment,  348;  Descartes, 
356. 

Mathematics,  its  influence  on  specu- 
lation and  method:  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  322  ff.;  Kepler,  350;  Des- 
cartes, 351;  Spinoza,  363,  367; 
Leibniz,  390  ff.;  Comte,  527. 

Mean,  various  interpretations:  Aris- 
totle, 54/.;  Montaigne,  334. 

Mechanism  in  the  interpretation  of 
Nature:  Galileo,  350-351;  Des- 
cartes, 356;  Hobbes,  359. 

Mechanism  in  the  physical  life: 
Hobbes,  359;  Spinoza,  367;  Leib- 
niz, 401;  Hume,  421. 

Medicine,  its  influence  on  old  Greek 
speculation:  n. 

Meditation,  origin  of  idea:  Plato,  29; 
late  Antiquity,  98. 

Method,  emphasized:  Bacon,  338,  341; . 
Descartes,  354  /. ;  Hegel,  496 /.; 
reaction  against  it:    German   Hu- 
manism, 461  ff.;    Romantic  Move- 
ment, 481. 

Microcosm  (Monads):  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  323;  Bruno,  328;  Leibniz, 
393  ff.;  Goethe,  469;  Schleier- 
macher,  510. 

Milieu:  Montaigne,  333;  Comte,  529. 

Miracle,  defended:  Augustine,  228; 
rejected:  Spinoza,  373. 

Misery  of  human  existence  (detailed 
description):  Plato,  27  ff.;  early 
Christianity,  180;  Gregory  of  Nys- 
sa, 202 ff.;  Augustine,  216;  Luther, 
279;  Spinoza,  370;  Schelling,  493; 
Schopenhauer,  512  ff.;  Comte, 
$*/ 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


611 


Menism,  of  mind  and  body:  Aris- 
totle, 46;  Bruno,  328;  Spinoza, 
365;  Goethe,  470  ff.;  Schelling, 
491. 

Monologue,  appearance  of,  in  litera- 
ture: Marcus  Aurelius,  93. 

Mood:  Romantic  Movement,  479jf.J 
Nietzsche,  562. 

Morality,  its  nature  and  value:  Plato, 
17,  23^".;  Aristotle,  54;  Epicurus, 
83;  Stoics,  86;  Plotinus,  in  ff.; 
Jesus,  159  ff.;  early  Christianity, 
176,  182;  Clement,  191;  Origen, 
197;  Augustine,  222,  239,  243; 
Abelard,  251;  Luther,  276  ff.; 
Zwingli,  291  ff.;  Bruno,  327;  Mon- 
taigne, 334  /.;  Bacon,  343;  En- 
lightenment, 346;  Spinoza,  373; 
English  Enlightenment,  408;  Hel- 
vetius,  416;  Voltaire,  416;  Kant, 
444  ff.;  Goethe,  472;  Schiller,  475; 
Fichte,  488;  Hegel,  497;  Schleier- 
macher,  510;  Schopenhauer,  515; 
modern  Realism,  522  ff.;  Comte, 

529- 

Morality,  restraint  of,  resented:  Re- 
naissance, 314,  319;  Romantic 
Movement,  478. 

Moral  Order  of  the  World,  conviction 
of:  Plato,  25/.;  Greek  belief,  78; 
Plotinus,  118;  Kant,  448;  doubted 
or  denied:  Aristotle,  47;  early 
Christianity,  180;  Spinoza,  364. 

Mysticism:  Late  Antiquity,  98;  Plo- 
tinus, 116;  Clement,  191;  Origen, 
196;  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  20  ff.; 
Augustine,  219  ff.;  Dionysius,  249; 
Thomas  Aquinas,  257;  Eckhart, 
260;  Thomas  a  Kempis,  266  ff.; 
Renaissance,  321;  Spinoza,  371. 

Nation  and  Humanity  (their  relation) : 
Aristotle,  t$ff.;  Stoics,  91;  Augus- 
tine, 242;  A.  Smith,  412;  German 
Humanism,  460;  Hegel,  500. 

Nationality,  recognition  of  principle 
of:  Romantic  Movement,  482; 
Fichte,  489;  nineteenth  century, 
556;  Augustine's  position  with  re- 
gard to  it,  242. 

National  type,  its  influence  on  the 
view  of  life:  Greek,  7  ff.,  176,  180, 


194,  199;  Latin,  176,  184,  205  ff.; 
Italian,  308  /.,  331;  French,  331, 
361,  415  /•>  English,  381,  386  /., 
407  ff.,  533;  German,  388  ff., 
417 /•»  454- 

Nature,  artistic  feeling  for:  Hellen- 
ism, 79t  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  203; 
Renaissance,  316;  Rousseau,  430; 
Goethe,  472;  Romantic  Movement, 
480. 

Natural  law:  Stoics,  92. 

Natural  morality,  religion,  etc.:  En- 
lightenment, 348. 

Natural  Philosophy:   Schelling,  491. 

Natural  science,  as  emancipator  from 
superstition:  Epicurus,  82;  as  the 
guide  of  life:  Bacon,  342;  Comte, 
526;  rejected  as  dangerous:  Augus- 
tine, 224. 

Negation,  its  power  in  human  Iffe: 
Hegel,  496,  504. 

Novel  (modern):  English  Enlighten- 
ment, 407. 

Objectivity  in  artistic  creation:  Goe- 
the, 471. 

Omnipotence  of  the  State:  Aristotle, 
65;  Rousseau,  342;  Hegel,  499; 
disputed:  Locke,  385;  A.  Smith, 
411;  German  Humanism,  460. 

Organic  conception  of  history,  lan- 
guage and  law:  Romantic  Move- 
ment, 482;  Schelling,  492. 

Organism  (concept  and  meaning): 
Aristotle,  49;  Descartes,  356;  Leib- 
niz, 392;  Comte,  529. 

Organism,  figuratively  applied  to  hu- 
man society:  Aristotle,  65;  Stoics, 
92;  early  Christianity,  187;  Comte, 
529;  this  conception  rejected:  Re- 
naissance, 318;  Locke,  384. 

Panentheism:  Renaissance,  320;  Ger- 
man Humanism,  462. 

Perfection  (as  moral  ideal):  Jesus, 
161;  Origen,  194  /.;  Gregory  of 
Nyssa,  202;  Latins,  209;  Reforma- 
tion, 277. 

Periodicity  in  things:  Aristotle,  60; 
Stoics,  89;  Marcus  Aurelius,  93; 
Nietzsche,  562. 


6l2 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


Personality  (conception  of) :  Aristotle, 
58;  Leibniz,  396;  Kant,  446;  Schlei- 
ermacher,  510;  new  Idealism,  557. 

Philistinism:  Storm-and-Stress  Peri- 
od, 433;  Romantic  Movement,  479. 

Philosophy,  as  reconciling  us  to  Real- 
ity: Aristotle,  46;  Plotinus,  n8ff.; 
Descartes,  358;  Leibniz,  403;  He- 
gel, 499;  as  support  and  comfort  in 
misery:  later  Stoicism,  73;  Boe- 
thius,  249. 

Pleasure,  its  nature  and  value:  Aris- 
totle, 51;  Epicurus,  83;  Stoics,  89; 
Plotinus,  no;  Montaigne,  335;  Spi- 
noza, 368;  Locke,  383;  Hume,  421. 

Predestination:  Augustine,  231  ff.\ 
Zwingli,  292;  Calvin,  293  jf. 

Pre-existence  of  souls;  Plato,  32; 
Plotinus,  no;  Origen,  196. 

Priesthood  (in  Christianity):  Latins, 
208/1;  Augustine,  239;  Reforma- 
tion, 277. 

Private  individual:  Hellenistic  Period, 
77;  Renaissance,  317;  German 
Humanism,  461. 

Probability:   Stoics,  93. 

Progress,  by  continuous  advance: 
Nicholas  of  Cusa,  323;  Leibniz, 
397-8;  Goethe,  467;  Comte,  527; 
through  opposition:  German  spec- 
ulative thought,  485;  Schelling,  491; 
Hegel,  496. 

Progress,  belief  in:  Abelard,  251; 
Nicholas  of  Cusa,  323^".;  Leibniz, 
398;  A.  Smith,  411;  Hegel,  497  /.; 
Comte,  527. 

Protestantism,     two    tendencies    of: 

295 /• 

Public  opinion,  esteemed:  Aristotle, 
60;  Locke,  386;  undervalued:  Plato, 
18;  Abelard,  251;  Schopenhauer, 
513;  containing  both  truth  and  er- 
ror: Hegel,  498. 

Purgatory,  doctrine  of:  Augustine, 
236;  Thomas  Aquinas,  257;  re- 
jected: Reformation,  277. 

Purpose,  defence  of:  Aristotle,  49;  re- 
jection of:  Spinoza,  364. 

Purposiveness  without  idea  of  pur- 
pose: A.  Smith,  411;  Darwinism, 

539- 
Pyramid  of  Knowledge:  Bacon,  339. 


Qualitative  Differences:  Kant,  442; 
quantitative:  Kepler,  350;  Leib- 
niz, 397  /• 

Realism:  Bacon,  344;  modern  Real- 
ism, 5i8/. 

Reason,  ancient  view  of:  Aristotle,  52; 
modern  view  of:  Locke,  384;  spec- 
ialised sense:  Kant,  440. 

Religion  (outside  ecclesiastical  Chris- 
tianity): Plato,  35  /.;  Aristotle, 
47;  Hellenistic  Period,  78;  Epi- 
curus, 82;  Stoics,  87;  late  Antiq- 
uity. 9S/-5  Plotinus,  i03/.,  ii9/.; 
Renaissance,  319  ff.\  Bruno,  330; 
Montaigne,  333;  Bacon,  343;  Des- 
cartes, 353;  Pascal,  360;  Bayle, 
360;  Spinoza,  373  ff.\  Leibniz, 
401  ff.\  English  Enlightenment, 
408;  Voltaire,  416;  Hume,  422; 
Rousseau,  429;  Kant,  450;  Ger- 
man Humanism,  462;  Goethe,  468, 
473/.;  Fichte,  488;  Sohelling,  493; 
Hegel,  501;  Schleiermacher,  509; 
modern  Realism,  522;  Comte,  524, 
528. 

Religion  and  Morality:  Jesus,  i58jf.; 
early  Christianity,  176;  Augustine, 
222  ff.;  Abelard,  251;  Eckhait,  263; 
Luther,  275;  Zwingli,  291;  Kant,  448. 

Religious  organisation  of  life:  Ploti- 
nus, 107;  Augustine,  221  ff.\  Thom- 
as Aquinas,  254^". 

Restoration  of  all  things:  Origen,  196. 

Rewards,  deprecated:  Clement,  191; 
Eckhart,  261  ff.\  Luther,  276;  Spi- 
noza, 372;  Shaftesbury,  408;  Kant, 
445;  demanded:  early  Christianity, 
186;  non-committal:  Thomas  a 
Kempis,  268. 

Romanticism,  its  nature,  477,  482. 

Sacraments:  early  Church,  208  ff.\ 
Augustine,  240;  Dionysius,  249; 
Thomas  Aquinas,  257;  Luther,  279, 
286;  Zwingli,  291  ff.\  Renaissance, 
320. 

Sacrifice,  idea  of,  in  Christianity: 
Latin,  2o8/.;  Luther,  285. 

Science,  as  controlling  life:  Plato, 
22  jf.,  41  jf.;  Bacon,  342;  Descar- 
tes, 358;  Comte,  525,  529. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 


613 


Self-knowledge,  different  interpreta- 
tions of:  Aristotle,  56;  Stoics,  91; 
Renaissance,  317;  Kant,  443;  Ger- 
man Humanism,  461;  Goethe,  467. 

Self-preservation,  as  motive-power  of 
life:  Augustine,  216;  Spinoza,  367; 
Schopenhauer,  511;  Darwinism, 

539^- 

Self -respect,  modern:  Renaissance, 
319;  as  educational  motive:  Locke, 
386. 

Sensible  world,  various  interpreta- 
tions and  valuations  of:  Plato, 
27  ff.;  Aristotle,  49;  late  Antiquity, 
97  ff->  Plotinus,  109,  in;  early 
Christianity,  180;  Origen,  195; 
Latins,  206;  Augustine,  228;  Ref- 
ormation, 281. 

Social  ethics:  early  Christianity,  177; 
Augustine,  240;  modern  Realism, 
522;  Comte,  529  ff.;  modern  So- 
ciology, 533. 

Society  and  Individual:  Plato,  24; 
Aristotle,  51,  65;  Hellenistic  Period, 
Tjff->  Christianity,  142;  Montaigne 
332jf.;  Locke,  384;  A.  Smith,  411; 
Rousseau,  426  ff.,  431;  German 
Humanism,  460;  Hegel,  498;  mod- 
ern Realism,  521;  Comte,  529; 
Quetelet,  533;  Mill,  534;  Social 
Democracy,  546;  modern  Idealism, 

555- 

State  and  political  life:  Plato,  37  J?.; 
Aristotle,  63  ff.;  Epicurus,  84; 
early  Christianity,  189;  Augustine, 
241;  Thomas  Aquinas,  257;  Re- 
naissance, 317-18;  Locke,  384; 
A.  Smith,  411;  Rousseau,  431; 
Kant,  449;  German  Humanism, 
460;  Fichte,  489^".;  Schelling,  492; 
Hegel,  498;  Comte,  528^.;  Social 
Democracy,  545;  modern  Idealism, 

555- 

State  (constitution  of)  artificial:  Re- 
naissance, 313;  natural:  Romantic 
Movement,  482;  Schelling,  492. 

State,  reasons  of:   Renaissance,  318. 

Struggle,  its  significance  for  life:  A. 
Smith,  411;  Hegel,  497;  Darwin- 
ism, S39./.;  its  misery:  Schopen- 
hauer, 511. 

Sublime,  its  nature:  Kant,  452. 


Suicide  defended :  Stoics,  89. 

Summation  of  reason:  Aristotle,  59. 

Supererogatory  Merit,  origin  of  the 
doctrine:  early  church,  209;  opposi- 
tion to  it:  Reformation,  277. 

Superhuman  element  in  man:  Plato, 
22;  Spinoza,  371-2;  Kant,  454; 
Hegel,  495  ff- 

Supernatural  and  Anti-natural:  Spi- 
noza, 374. 

Symbolical  character  of  existence: 
late  Antiquity,  98  ff.;  Plotinus, 
119;  of  art:  Romantic  Movement, 
479- 

Technical  control  of  nature:  Bacon, 
340;  Descartes,  357;  Leibniz,  399; 
Comte,  525. 

Terminology  (scientific),  foundation 
of:  Aristotle,  69;  mediaeval:  Duns 
Scotus,  264;  German:  Ch.  Wolff, 
417. 

Theodicy:  Stoics,  87;  Plotinus,  ii7/.; 
Augustine,  229;  Bruno,  329;  Leib- 
niz, 402  ff.;  Hegel,  501. 

Theoretical  and  practical  life,  theif 
relation.  Precedence  given  to  the- 
ory: Aristotle,  54  ff.;  Plotinus, 
no;  to  practice:  Locke,  383;  Kant, 

444- 

Theoretical  and  practical  reason:  Aris- 
totle, 54 ff.;  Duns  Scotus,  265;  Kant, 

444;   Fichte,  487. 
Thought   and   Being:    Plato,    18  /.; 

Aristotle,    46   ff.;     Spinoza,    366; 

Kant,    437   /•;     Hegel,    495   /•; 

Thought    as    action:     Stoics,    88; 

Fichte,  487;  Hegel,  495. 
Transmigration  of  souls:    Plato,  31; 

Plotinus,  no;   Origen,  196. 
Truth,  idea  of:   Problems  inherent  in 

it:  436- 

Ultramontanism:  296. 

Universities  (German),  their  emancipa- 
tion from  Scholasticism:  Wolff,  417. 

Usury  forbidden:  Aristotle,  64;  early 
Christianity,  188. 

Utility,  depreciated:  Aristotle,  51; 
German  Humanism,  459;  main 
stimulus  of  endeavour:  Bacon,  343; 
Spinoza,  367,  369;  A.  Smith,  410; 


614                        INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS 

Bentham,    542;     Mill,    534;     Dar-  War,  denounced :  Aristotle,  64;  Kant, 

winism,  540.  449;   defended:  Hegel,  500. 

Utilitarianism,    religious:    Augustine,  Will,  its  importance:   Augustine,  217; 

222,  224,  225;    Thomas  a  Kempis,  Duns  Scotus,   265;    Schopenhauer, 

267;  social:  Bacon,  343;  A.  Smith,  511. 

410  jf.\    Voltaire,   416;    Bentham,  Will  to   live:   Augustine,  216;    Scho- 

542;  Mill,  534;  Darwin,  540.  penhauer,  511. 

Works,   their   importance:    Aristotle, 

Veracity  or  Truth,  as  supreme  virtue:  52;    Latins,   209;    Augustine,   240; 

Kant.  449.  their  limitations:   Luther,  277. 

Vocation,     its    worth:     Reformation,  Wrath  of  God:    early  Church,   178; 

ay;  Luther,  285. 


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